Page 43 of Junkyard Dog

He stalked toward her, holding her hips as he brushed past her in the narrow hall. She sat on the sofa, crossing her legs and watching with amusement as he tore his bed apart, replacing the blue sheets with a set of black ones. She extended a hand. “Pass me the pillows and pillowcases.”

He lobbed them toward her before returning his attention to wrestling with his comforter. “What movie do you want tonight?” he called over his shoulder, snapping the blanket smooth.

Something boring that neither of us will be into.

“Pick some blockbuster moneymaker sequel,” she replied, tucking one pillow into its case and fluffing it. “One where none of the original cast returned.”

He laughed and flopped onto his bed, stretching over to reach his remote and giving her a good, long look at the abs she hadn’t seen in ages.

Damn, he was hot.

Her fingers were still aching from the grip she’d maintained on her purse to keep her hands from drifting down to his muscled thighs as he stretched his arm behind her headrest and grazed his thumb along the nape of her neck while they traveled the park.

She loaded her arms with the pillows, adding the small throw cushions from the sofa, and joined him. His eyes were fixated on the television, scanning the descriptions of each movie before making his selection triumphantly and sliding the remote back onto the ledge beside him. “This work?”

“Perfect.”

She waited patiently as he tucked his arms behind his head and got comfortable, his long legs crossed at the ankles and hanging over the edge of the bed. Once he stopped shifting, she tucked a pillow up beside him and snuggled up nice and tight, tossing one arm over his chest.

“You’re off tonight,” she murmured, tentatively broaching the somber undertone their evening had held. “Are you okay?”

He nodded and sat up, folding his pillow in half before lying back on it again. “All good.”

Unwilling to rock the boat on one of their first nights as a not-a-couple-but-not-a-booty-call relationship, she resettled, changing the subject. “You’re really warm.”

He looked down at her. “I tend to run hot. Probably why I keep the air conditioner blasting in here constantly.”

She’d noticed it weeks ago, how his skin was always warm to the touch whether they were out in the blistering heat or holed up in the sweet coolness of the lounge. She had even taken to cranking her own air conditioner up when he was at her place, his natural heat battling alongside the desert temperatures.

Without the slightest effort to watch the movie Alex had selected, she began drawing loops on his black shirt. Her fingers grazed along his body, the slight quickening of his breathing merely encouraging her as he kept his eyes on the small screen. She trailed her hand as far up his biceps as she could reach before doubling back and skimming the neckline of his shirt, smiling when he held his breath a fraction longer. Growing bolder, she dipped down to the hem and inched her fingers underneath. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

She glanced up as he swallowed, his eyes still locked on the movie. “Nope. I’m good.”

Fascinated by the amount of heat he was giving off, she continued her exploration slowly, skipping her fingertips over his ribs and skirting his abs. He shifted his hips, drawing her attention to the growing issue he was dealing with as he uncrossed his ankles and bent one knee. She dragged her pinky along the inside band of his jeans, impressed when his only reaction was to dig his heel further into the mattress.

She tilted her head up to him. “Want me to stop?”

“Nope,” he muttered, his jaw muscles flexed. “I’m good.”

That makes two of us, big boy.

She glanced down and bit her cheek.

Big, big boy.

Resuming her exploration, she snuggled her pillow further down to increase her scope. She ran her hand down one of his thighs then ventured back up the other one, her arm grazing the bulge in his jeans and earning a sharp exhale from him. Rising up onto her elbow, she hooked her thumb into the waistband of his jeans. “Can I?”

His unique eyes had moved from the television to her fingers, his hands clasped behind his head and biceps tight. “That depends. Booty calls redraw the limited benefits guidelines, right?”

“I’m not up for the booty part of the call tonight,” she replied, smirking at him. “You, however, have a loophole.”

“I fucking love loopholes.”

She popped the button and eased the zipper down, taking care to avoid making contact with the beast she was unleashing. Keeping one eye on his reactions, she hooked her fingers into his belt loops and rose to her knees, tugging the stubborn jeans off his hips and pushing them down until he was able to kick them onto the floor.

“You really need a laundry hamper,” she said, thumbing the hem of his black boxers.

“I’ll pick one up tomorrow.”

---