Because we’re in this small space together and I’ve already seen his partial erection, I decide nothing is off-limits. “Boxer briefs, huh? Okay, I like that. I would have pegged you for a free-ballin’ kind of guy. You ever free-ball?”
“Free-ball?” he repeats in his dry, deadpan tone.
“You know, go commando. No undies.”
He grabs a stick of deodorant from his bag, and it takes every single ounce of me not to say, “oh so youdotry to smell good,” because the truth now is that I fucking love his smell, musky or fresh. Shit.
That makes my mouth slam shut. Ilovehis smell. I haven’t loved anything in a long time.
He grips the footboard, staring at me having an internal epiphany. “Where’d you go? One second you wanna know if my balls are free, and the next, you’re lost.” He pushes wet hair off my shoulder and it’s a whisper of a gesture. His skin doesn’t even come into contact with mine, but still, my chest tingles.
“Just, uh, waiting for you to answer with words and not grunts, that’s all,” I lie, but with a smile and charisma so that he can’t tell.
But hecantell because his unforgiving eyes pinch down on me again with that focus that makes me shudder a little. No one has ever paid such close attention to me while I’m just… thinking and talking.
“Yeah, okay, Goldie,” he says, grabbing his toothbrush and paste from his bag and adding it to the growing pile of stuff he’s taking to the bathroom. “And the only time Ifree ballis when I sleep.”
Then he walks out, and a moment later, the bathroom door closes and the shower starts up. And I’m left standing there, wanting to touch my pussy and moan his name while I envision his big body twisted up in these sheets, completely fucking naked.
* * *
“All I need isa zebra or a horse and you’re going down,” I taunt as I fan out my cards in front of him.
His hair is down and still drying from his shower, and with just his lingerie on, I’m turned on. When I asked him if we were having a topless day, he said, “you can get topless if you want. I don’t like when my hair gets my shirt wet, so I don’t put my shirt on ‘til my hair dries.” The amount of brilliance in that statement shocked me. I hate when my wet hair gets my shirt wet and makes me cold, too.
I don’t hate the view of snakes, chains, naked women, flames, and tears staring back at me from his knotted torso, either.
“We’ll see,” he gruffs, lowering his blue chip down to cover the blue ostrich on the board.
We’ve been playing Sequence for Kids because this cabin only has three games: this one, a deck of Skip-Bo cards, and Monopoly. The first thing we’ve really bonded over is our mutual dislike for Monopoly. Further, we agreed it’s not really even the game that we dislike; it’s the commitment to time you have to make. That shit takes forever to really play and finish.
So here we are. Playing a game meant for four to eight-year-olds, for the fourth time.
He draws a card, and the edge of his lips twitch. “You got the shark, didn’t you?” I ask. He needs the shark to win.
With a small smile first, he grunts.
The fire pops behind us, and Atti sets his cards down to add more wood. And as he’s adding wood, I start thinking abouthiswood. What I spotted last night was impressive, from what I can remember, and this morning’s “chemistry” wasn’t too shabby either. I wonder what he looks like naked and completely hard?
He sits back down, and right about now, I wish I wasn’t on the floor in front of the table but on the couch next to him. Except, we’re here as friends of friends. Staring at his junk, rubbing one out while he’s in the room, asking what undies he wears… it’s official: I’m a perv.
I force myself to stop thinking about his wood or sitting next to him and play my card, drawing another after my chip is down. On the next turn, he plays his shark and wins for the fourth time in a row. Bastard.
“Skip-Bo?” I ask, laying back, loving how warm the rug feels against my back. I didn’t know I was cold till now.
“Check your coat. If it’s dried, we can get out there and get some more firewood.”
I sit back up just in time to watch him finger-comb his hair into a bun. It’s shiny and a bit messy, but because I know he showered this morning, I know it’s a clean shine, not grease like usual.
“Normally, I’d say that feels like a you thing and not an us thing,” I start, sliding my chips off the board and back into the zippered bag they came in. “But because I’m already feeling hungry for lunch, some physical activity would be good. Then I can really earn it.”
Getting to my feet, I pat down the arms of the puffer coat that has been moved and flipped. I guess Atti did that after I fell asleep last night. Honestly, he probably wants my coat to be dry so he can have his hoodie back, but the care he took for one of my things has my heart flexing.
Sliding one arm in at a time, I discover it’s fully dry. After my shower, I put Atti’s socks back on because they are thicker and warmer, but now that it’s time to get shoes on, I realize wool socks don’t pair well with Converse. Tapping my chin, I’m in the middle of working out the conundrum when I feel him behind me.
Really, I sense him looming over me. With his expansive frame and broad chest, his body heat rains down on me from above and behind. When I turn around, he’s holding his hoodie. The same one I wore last night and this morning. He puts it on over the henley he’d added, and sweet Jesus, how does this man make me wet in an old hoodie and sweats?Lingerie.Sweats are like lingerie, add a hoodie, and you’ve basically got yourself the female equivalent of garter, teddy, and heels.
“Earn it?” he asks, his voice sounding kind of sour. He’s actually making a face to match.