Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
For some odd reason, she was relieved.
The tattoos he had didn’t distract from his looks, which is what originally drew her to him not even a year ago after starting at Manning Grove PD.
She wanted to tell him to turn around so she could see his back, to confirm her suspicion. To see the ink that represented the true “tribe” he belonged to, but she already knew how he’d react to that order.
Since he was getting undressed, she’d see it soon enough and she didn’t want to distract him from what he was currently doing, which was shoving his jeans and whatever he wore underneath down his legs.
The man had no chest hair, so it didn’t surprise her that his legs were only lightly furred and the hair hardly noticeable in the dim light because of the dark blond color. But the thick patch of short, wiry hair from where his erection protruded was darker than his beard.
She dug her fingernails into her palms. She wanted to touch him there. To feel the springiness, to explore the velvet-soft skin of his cock. To thumb the glistening bead of precum that had collected at the slit.
He stared at her while he stepped out of the gathered denim at his feet.
Now he was totally naked.
And she was not. At least not yet.
His hand fisting his cock snapped her out of her trance.
On just his body alone, he had every right to be cocky. While he was pretty to look at fully dressed, he was much more spectacular wearing nothing but his smirk while stroking his thick length.
He was no slouch there, either.
She kept all of those thoughts to herself.
Then his cocky grin died and his eyes narrowed. “What the fuck are you wearin’?”
Chapter Thirteen
What the fuck are you wearin’?
Confused, she shook her head wondering what he was asking about and why whatever it was bothered him. “What?”
“That shiny shit clinging to your tits.”
She glanced down at her shirt. “Under Armour. I wear that under my vest to keep me dry.”
“Fuckin’ skin tight.”
This was an odd conversation to be happening when the man standing in front of her was buck naked. “It’s supposed to be.”
“You walk around just wearin’ that?”
Why was he all bent out of shape about a shirt? Yes, it was snug but it needed to not be bulky. “I need to be careful with what I wear in the locker room since we only have one.” That was why she wore her Under Armour home instead of peeling it off at work.
His brow dropped low. “What d’you mean?”
“We only have one locker room at the station. So, most of the time Leah and I don’t strip down all the way. And we certainly don’t shower there. It’s why I wear boy shorts, a sports bra and Under Armour when I work.”
“You’re in a fuckin’ locker room with other men wearin’ only a sports bra and your panties?”
This was a disturbing line of questioning. Especially from him. Especially now. “Well,” she plucked at the dark blue skin-tight fabric at her stomach, “this over it and boy shorts.”
“Fuckin’ underwear, Jet. Struttin’ around a bunch of horny pigs in just your fuckin’ underwear.”
“I wouldn’t call it strutting.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Why the hell do you care, anyway?”
Instantly his expression went blank. “I don’t.”
“Well then, good. What I do is none of your business.”
His jaw shifted.
“None of your business.”
It shifted again.
“You’re only here to get me out of your system, remember?”
A muscle ticked in his cheek.
“So… can we get that process started and over with so I can go take a damn shower and get some sleep?”
“Waitin’ on you.”
“You wouldn’t be waiting if we weren’t having this ridiculous conversation,” she reminded him. She hooked her fingers into her dark gray nylon track pants and shoved them down, toeing off her sneakers and stepping out of her pants like he had. “Unless you want to have another unnecessary conversation about my boy shorts, too?” She lifted a brow with her inquiry.
His chest rose slowly as he now focused on her powder blue underwear. His stroking also slowed. “You wear that shit in front of those assholes?”
“Are you including yourself in that group?”
“Can see your pussy lips.”
“You must have really good vision, then,” she said as she grabbed the hem of her shirt and peeled it up her torso, tugging it over her head and dropping it on top of her other discarded clothing. Now she stood in only her sports bra and underwear. “Should I keep going or should I pause for your commentary on each article of clothing, since it’s so enlightening?”
“Fuck you, Jet,” he growled.
“You keep promising that, but right now you’re only fucking your own fist. So, are you done bitching about what I wear in the locker room at work?”
He wasn’t. She could see it on his face, but, amazingly enough, he kept his mouth shut.