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I eased past him, and as I strolled into his room, I peeled out of my coat. “I’m a little horny,” I said as the door clicked shut.
I turned to him. He was still at the door and still looked half asleep.
“Anyway,” I tilted my head, trying to look innocent. . . which was totally fucking laughable. “I don’t like to be alone when I horny, and well. . . I’d like to masturbate.” That was a new one for me. I’d never said that word in front of a man before. Masturbate. It sounded so clinical.
William shook his head as if trying to shake out a dream, or maybe a nightmare.
“So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to do that here.” I indicated the space near the dining table. “You can sit on your bed and watch if you like.”
He shuffled a little closer to the bed. If his body was anything to judge by, then my early assumption that he’d never worked a manual job in his life was confirmed.
There was nothing extraordinary about his appearance. He was of average height, average build, and didn’t have rippling abs or bulging biceps. He had no tattoos. No wild body hair, pale skin, and no suntan lines. William was the epitome of Mr. Average.
“Do you want me to leave?” I pointed at the door.
I sucked in a breath and scrunched his nose. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you married?” I asked.
“No.” He shook his head.
“In love with anyone?”
His eyebrows did a little shuffle as if he was debating the truth. “I am, but she loves another man.” He looked so vulnerable standing there in his cotton boxer shorts.
My heart squeezed. “Oh, no.” I made a sad face. “I loved a man once. He fell in love with my best friend, so I know exactly what you’re going through. It’s pure crap, right!”
I lifted my dress off, careful not to remove the wig with it, and William’s jaw fell to the carpet.
“So, what do you do for a living?”
He smacked his lips together as if trying to produce moisture. “I’m a poet.”
I cocked my head. “A poet? You make a living out of rhyming?”
“Yes.” A small smirk curled at his lips. “Yes, I do.”
The fun romp I’d had with my Jamaican hottie with the voice like liquid gold came to mind, and I had an idea. “How about we play a little game then?”
He frowned, suddenly cautious.
“I’ll say something, and if you can rhyme with it, I’ll take off another piece of clothing.”
He licked his lips and blinked as if weighing up the challenge. “Okay.” The poor man trembled.
Is he lying about being a poet?
I hope not. He seems so nice.
“Let me see,” I said. “Okay, how about this? So, Mr. Poet, have you seen a woman naked before?”
He sat on the bed and pushed his hands between his knees like he was trying to stop them from trembling. “I have indeed, but a gentleman doesn’t keep score.”
“Ah, good one.” I kicked off my right high heel. “I can do things that’ll make you weak at the knees.” I jutted my chin at him.
“I’m sure you can, you’re an enchanting tease.”
“Wow, you’re good.” I flicked off my other shoe. I clicked my fingers. “How about you say what else I should remove?”
