Page 26 of Wicked

I try to act unflustered, but it’s too late. He must have also read my note.

After walking to the window, I pace slow to kill time. Trying to not look at the rogue and his perfect olive-skinned body is hard. At least he is now using the washcloth to cover his thick… cock.

I attempt to appear chill and calm as he lays there silently. It’s hard.

I cannot see his entire body, or his junk, because soap bubbles sit on top of the water. Some kind of masculine pine and cinnamon smell wafts, and it’s perfect, unlike him.

“Campari and soda?” he asks, his eyes now closed. His head moves toward a side table, with a familiar bottle of Campari. Two cute soda water bottles are on it.

“Si, grazie,” I say, trying to sound sophisticated and cultured.

As I crouch in my towel and pour, I wonder if he saw my breasts, or even more. There is no way he could not have seen me.

I have not shaven for weeks, but it is what it is now.

Returning to the window, I sit on the open windowsill. The sea is calm, and the sun is setting. The Campari is good, and I made it strong.

After a while, I feel the cool night air, and I calm. As I relax, I look back. The arrogant bastard is still laying there like he’s in a darned spa. He is using all the hot water, and he is not even washing that… that perfect body.

I walk slowly to the bath, and one of his eyes opens,like analligator.

He watches me slowly, and I walk up and reach down. The water is no longer hot. I make my most peaceful deal-making face, and I force a smile.

“If you get out now, I won’t look.”

All of a sudden, he stands, and I catch an eyeful and gasp.

I spin as he climbs out and he stands in front of the mirror, reaching for a towel. I face the window and see him out the corner of my eye.

He is hung, glistening, and his steaming lean body and six-pack is God-like. He has more tattoos than I saw this morning, but they are oddly classy and stylish. Most with green and yellow, kind of Asian, and hot. It’s the most masculine and chic art-like tattoo collection I’ve ever seen, and he looks like a work of fucking art.

My heart pumps and my body is acting strange. As Dante calmly dries himself, I quickly move away from him, trying not to stare. I am cold, and I climb quickly into the bath, tossing my towel on a side chair.

Dropping into the water, I check out his compact perfect butt.

“Watch it!” Dante growls low.

I realize he can see me from the mirror, and our eyes meet. As he stares into the mirror and dries his chest, I lift my chin. I then sip my cool strong drink. Screw him.

The warm water and ice-cold drink are perfect.Like fire and ice.

If I’m in a semi-hot bath with a hot male butt to look at, I will take it, and I will suffer the god-darned consequences.

What is he going to do, have me thrown out of the place? And what the heck did he expect?

Intrigued, I watch him finish toweling himself. He has turned and he cannot see me now. As he slides the fluffy towel over his athletic torso,it is becoming harder not to stare.

He is clearly not ashamed of his body, but who would be with that?

As he towels off his legs, butt, and stomach, I gulp.It’s time to play!

“Teasing is a form of terrorism,” I say, unplanned. The arrogant grump says nothing and reaches for his jeans.

His perfect butt is rounded, rock hard and still uncovered.

He pulls his jeans on without anything else, and he slowly zips them up. As he finishes, he turns and watches me.

He then pushes his jet-black hair back, and he walks up with his perfect six-pack and God-like body. My heart stops as we lock eyes.

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