Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 57(@200wpm)___ 46(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 57(@200wpm)___ 46(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
My gaze drifts to the next pair. Bright purple, sporting a unicorn right down the front.
I laugh.
Well, I’m kind of always a unicorn. But jokes about being “horny” run through my mind, so I set the purple one aside in the no pile. I’m not desperate for sex—I’m just burning up for him.
Oh, how about a dragon?
If the shoe fits . . .
Not only am I on fire for Rafe Rodman, but that’s the team I play for. And this dragon sports a tail that wraps right around the goods.
But I already am a dragon. So maybe this is a little too on the nose. I want something that says to the man what’s on my mind and in my libido. I want to see if I can reel him in before the weekend.
This is my game, and I’m damn good at playing it.
I grab a pair of fire engine red tight-AF boxer briefs, pull them on, then check out my reflection in the mirror.
“Damn.” I whistle. I make these look good. I make these tight boxer briefs look fine.
But is that a surprise?
I park myself in a leather chair, lean back, spread my legs, all relaxed and casual and, let’s be honest, fuckable, and I snap a pic.
I head to Instagram and I add a sticker right over the outline of my dick. It’s a rooster on my cock.
I post it, tagging him, with the throw down: “How about a new design, Rafe? Here you go.”
Come and get me, Rafe Rodman. I don’t like to wait.
4
Rafe
* * *
On a normal day, I am a one-track-minded machine. I am a master of focus when it comes to my business, and so, when I head to the gym in the morning, I run through my agenda. As I press weights, I think of all the pressing things I need to do at work—not the man I’d like to press up against.
It was one night.
Well, I guess technically it was two, but who’s counting?
After the gym, I settle in at my desk and review some new fabric samples that have come in. One is a turquoise color, pure and simple, and the other has little pictures of the devil on it.
I send an email to the manufacturer and request he runs with the Lucifer design—so long as he can make it bigger.
Yep. I am not thinking about last night at all.
As I take a sip of my second Earl Grey of the morning, Theresa knocks at my office door.
“I thought I told you not to come in today.” I frown.
“Yes, but Dad’s actually fine now. They thought it was worse than it really was,” she says.
“Are you sure? Do you need anything?” I press as she walks closer to my desk and sinks into the leather chair opposite me.
“I’m positive, Rafe. It was just a few bruises. And I feel absolutely terrible for pulling you away from that delicious man,” she says, contrition in her tone but a playful smile on her lips.
“Don’t think twice about it,” I say.
“But I do.” Her voice dips quieter. “You seemed the most laidback I’ve seen you in a long time.”
I laugh as I recline in my leather desk chair. “Laidback? Is that the word you’d use?”
She laughs. “Fine. Maybe that’s the wrong word. You weren’t exactly laidback. More like . . . energized?”
She says it kind of flirty and coy, but she’s not flirting with me. It’s more like she’s recognizing the flirt potential in the situation.
“Yes, I was quite energized. Quite engaged. But it was more important to me to make sure you were okay. I’ll see him next weekend if he wants to show up,” I say, and it comes out casual and cool, but that’s not how I feel.
I feel hungry. I feel pent-up.
I’m desperate to see him again, feel him again, and to fuck him very improperly.
The desire winds me up, and I want to claw at the calendar until it’s the weekend. Then discover him waiting for me in the middle of the dance floor, dancing for me, seducing me with that rock-hard body.
Knowing that I’ll be the one taking him home.
Chemistry: we have it, but I want to test it, explore it.
Theresa and I say goodbye and I return to work, meeting with the PR team and then closing the door to my office so I can focus on those new design plans in private.
Three hours later, Theresa calls me from her desk.
“What’s going on, love?” I ask.
“Have you seen the sales?”
“No. I haven’t checked.”
“Sales for the last few hours are through the roof. A huge uptick for a morning.”
“Hmm. That’s interesting. We’re not having a promo on the site that would drive it. Is it a TikTok video?”
Every now and then, a prominent out celebrity will post a sexy video on TikTok wearing a pair of Rafe Rodmans, and sales will jump.