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She turns back. “Wow. What’s the treasure?”
“No idea,” I say as my hands glide down her back, slowly approaching the two delectable dimples at the base of her spine. “I couldn’t crack Grandpa’s code.”
Hmm. Grandpa’s Code could be a Dan Brown novel about Robert Langdon in retirement.
“Oh,” she says. “Let me know if I can help. I’m good with anything treasure-map-related, including cyphers and codes, of course.”
I don’t reply because my fingers reach the dimples, and my balls get tight. I’d better move on, or else I might just get blue balls—something that until now, I thought was a convenient myth told by teen boys to teen girls.
Crap. Either by accident or driven by the will of my cock, the fingers of my right hand accidentally slip from the dimple and into Brooklyn’s bathing suit bottom. Once there, they lightly brush over the curve of her right butt cheek, giving my cock an apoplexy.
Not surprisingly, Brooklyn leaps to her feet and grabs her coverup.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling my face turn red. “That was an accident. The poultice is greasy, so my hand slipped.”
I sure hope that’s the truth because I wouldn’t like myself if the explanation was anything else… which it could be.
“It’s no big deal,” she says breathlessly. “But I do think I’ve monopolized enough of your time at this point. Best if I apply the rest of the poultice myself.”
Before I can voice another apology, or a rebuttal, she snatches the jar and sprints away as if a crazed sex maniac were on her heels.
I find my reflection in the microwave. Yep. My face has turned a shade that is not unlike that of Brooklyn’s back—and yet, despite this clear evidence of blood flow elsewhere, I’m still hard as a rock.
The door slams in the distance.
Harry looks at me in confusion.
Human dude, where did the human dudette go? You seemed to be jelling, awesomely, and then poof.
On the table, Sally steals a piece of sashimi from the boat, then stares at me without even a hint of remorse.
It seems like our evil captor wanted to add another female creature to his evil harem. Luckily for her, she possesses opposable thumbs.
Shit. Brooklyn now thinks I’m a creepy perv, and she might not be too far from the truth because here I am, walking to the bathroom to fist my cock.
Only after I come do I realize that I never bothered to wash the poultice from my hands and now have apple cider vinegar on my dick.
Chapter Nine
Brooklyn
When I get to my rental, I pant like a dog in heat. I mean, an overheated dog—though that first bit could’ve been a Freudian slip because Evan’s poultice application was the most sensual experience of my life.
How sad is that?
Jolene is right about my D deficiency. Maybe if I got laid once in a while, I wouldn’t have reacted as I did.
And boy, did I react. When Evan ran his fingers between my shoulder blades, it took a herculean effort not to do something inappropriate, like touch myself.
Things just got worse from there, and his attempt at conversation didn’t help. If anything, learning about his reading preferences made me want him more.
And then he touched my ass.
In an instant, I was ready to throw said ass at him. I even thought about practicalities, like the fact that my period shouldn’t get in the way of anal.
Yep, that was an actual thought I had, even though I’ve never done anal.
That’s when I knew I had to get the hell out of his house.
