Page 4 of The Fed Sex Man

Completely.

I lifted my gaze the length of his lean muscular frame. The company-issued polo he wore clung to his wide chest. Mid-stride on his way to the door, the Texas wind blew the fabric tight against his flat stomach. The outline of a rippled torso was overshadowed by the bulging biceps that flexed when he handed Jenny two small cardboard boxes.

She smiled and took them from his grasp. “Thanks.”

“I’ll need a signature,” he said, revealing an envious set of perfectly straight teeth. They were a shade of white reserved for Crest commercials and internet ads for cosmetic dental surgery.

No one with a smile so charming could be a bad person.

He scanned the boxes and then handed her the device. Wearing a guilt-ridden smirk, she signed the screen with the stylus and returned the scanner. He clipped it to his belt and took a precursory glance around the store. While he did, Jenny’s gaze fell to his crotch.

Naturally, mine followed.

My heart began to beat so rapidly I feared he might hear it. I pressed my palm to my chest and stood statue-still, hoping he didn’t notice me gawking at his noteworthy nether region.

Along the inner side of his upper right thigh was the outline of what God had graced him with. He’d been blessed with far more than a remarkable body and an infectious smile.

Incapable of ripping my eyes away what was hanging heavily inside the leg of his shorts, I stared as if it were a ten-car pileup on highway 75.

My thoughts drifted from the incredible chunk of flesh to him tossing me onto the mountain of boxes in the back of his truck and forcing every thick inch of his manhood beyond my deprived folds and deep inside my soaking wet warmth.

The sound of the paperback’s spine hitting the floor brought me back to reality. Embarrassed, I bent down and picked it up, hoping he didn’t notice. As I straightened my stance, his curious stare pinned me to the bookshelf I’d been using as shelter.

He held my gaze with hazel eyes unlike any I’d ever seen. Green with flicks of translucent brown sprinkled throughout the iris, they were fascinating to look at. Frozen in place like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck, I stared back at him feeling as if he was peering into my very soul.

He grinned. “I like your shirt.”

I melted into a puddle. Hypnotized by his presence and incapable of something as simple as formulating a response, I swallowed heavily and parted my drying lips.

Hi, my name’s Jo.

I’m single. Would you mind showing me your dick? I’m fascinated by them in general, and yours seems to be quite a specimen.

Please?

“Huh?” I murmured.

“Your shirt,” he said with a nod. “I like it.”

I was far too young for hot flashes, but one shot through me nonetheless. Uncertain of what shirt I had chosen, I brushed the wrinkles from the weathered fabric and glanced down.

girl

ɡərl/

noun

1. an attitude with boobs

It was one of my favorite shirts, but not at all what I would expect someone to compliment me on. As all the blood in my body rushed to my face, I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and returned a crooked smile. “Thank you.”

He undressed me with his eyes and turned away. As he walked to his truck I braced myself against the bookcase and swam in the compliment he’d given regarding my choice of attire.

“Ho-Lee-Shit.” Jenny spun around. “Did you see that?”

Still mesmerized, I stared blankly as he drove away. “See what?”

“The package he didn’t drop off.” She let out a long breath. “Jesus. H. Christ. That thing was huge.”