Page 49 of Protect Home
My eyes search for him, not seeing him in the living room, thinking I missed him somewhere. That’s when I spot him. Lounged in my patio chair on the balcony, shirtless with his bare feet crossed on the metal railing.
What is he doing? But good golly, he looks glorious. Messy hair on top of his head and gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. But the best part…he’s holding his phone out in front of him…taking a picture.
Goddamn it.He’s taking a selfie.
Oh, this is too good. I hang back and watch, transfixed as he tries again, holding the phone out in front of him before snapping another picture. I follow his movements like a long-awaited blooper I’ve been missing, marveling when he pulls the phone close to inspect the image and roughly taps the screen.
“Delete.”
I should help him. After all, I am the professional.
Suspecting he doesn’t see me, I head toward him and open the door to the balcony, revealing myself. “Trouble in paradise, bat boy?”
He scoffs at my nickname for him, making no effort to hide his phone like he has nothing to be ashamed of. Secretly, I love that about him. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks and makes no effort to change it.
“You could say that.” He scowls, glancing up at me.
“Anything I can help with?”
He cocks his head to the side. “I don’t know, little venom. You tell me. Anything I can helpyouwith?”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“Um, no,” I draw out. “I saw you struggling and figured I could helpyou. I was just about to make some breakfast for us.”
He smiles lightly and doesn’t let on to anything more. It has my mind spinning a little. That was an odd comment to make.
Shaking off his thoughts, he says, “You set my profile up, and now I’m trying to make a post. Since I have no idea what I’m doing, I figured I’d try a selfie. Except I look like a dweeb. It feels fucking weird.”
I chuckle, taking the phone from his hand. It’s impossible not to gawk at August like this. The random splattering of tattoos across his tan and naked chest. The trimmed trail of hair along his lower stomach, surrounded by bulging muscles. Jesus, he’s delectable, and I don’t need to be ogling him like this.
Possibly drooling if I were brave enough to check. Especially when I’m positive my core is still soaked.
“Here,” I say, setting up the front-facing camera. “Let me do it for you.”
“How about you just get in here with me then?” he suggests, looking ready to pull me onto his lap.
“In the picture with you? No thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” August quips, lounging back more comfortably.
I tilt my head. “Must you be so full of yourself?” I ask, motioning to his full frame. Everything he does feels sexual—taunting. The man barely has to move a muscle, and it registers as sexually rhythmic. Like he could do it during sex, and it would somehow feel like a fancy new trick he saved just for me.
Although short-lived, I’ve experienced a sliver of his skill firsthand. I’ve also tried to forget about it every day since. Now, I have a human inside of me that serves as my daily reminder of the more than decent fucking August Graves gave me in a utility closet.
He grins, twisting my words. “You can be full of me if you’d like.”
“Incorrigible ogre,” I jab at him.
“Beautiful little prude,” he fires back, and I can’t help it, I smile big.
Deciding to get back on track, I instruct him to get into a position he wants people to see. “Relax and run a hand through your hair. Do something hot. But don’t look at the camera. We want you to seem off guard and candid. Comfortable in your space.”
“You think I’m hot, Mama?” He ignores my instruction.
I ignorehimuntil August finally does as asked, and hell, I just know this picture will soar with likes and comments. Possibly go viral. He has no idea how handsome he is. The effect he has on women.Men, too.
“How’s this?” He seems to genuinely care, doing exactly as asked while I take a handful of pictures.
