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Between one breath and the next, I went from thinking all that I was feeling was one sided, to all that I was feeling was definitely reciprocated.
But then, that bubble had to burst, too.
He stepped back, shucked the leather cut that was covering his back, and tossed it onto the nearest flat surface. Which happened to be the bed.
The bed that was big, and definitely too close for comfort right now.
That’s when I realized that the penis I thought I’d felt earlier, relaying his feelings toward me, wasn’t actually a penis at all. But a gun.
It was tucked inside the front of his pants, and half of it was protruding down the length of his inner thigh.
Definitely not a hard cock.
My ego, which had built itself back up slightly at the idea of him wanting me, deflated all the way.
There was no way that he would feel that way toward me.
There was no way that a man like him, with his gorgeous face, beautiful eyes, and big strong muscles, would…
He pulled the gun from his pants, placed it on the bed next to the edge, then turned toward me.
In the time that he’d been turned, which had to be half a second at most, he’d tugged his shirt up, revealing his stomach.
Price didn’t have the flattest tummy on earth. Nor did he have the legendary six-pack abs like his twin.
What he did have was a stomach that was lean, mostly defined, and everything that I’d ever imagined. He had this trail of hair that started above his belly button, then slowly got thicker as it arrowed its way down toward his crotch.
A crotch that was more than obvious now that he had his shirt pulled up and facing me.
My mouth fell open and went instantly dry at the sight.
So maybe he wasn’t unaffected after all…
“It’s nice that you thought my gun was me and all…” he said, reading my thoughts. “But I’m not quite that big… or hard.”
My mouth closed with an audible click.
“Not to mention,” he said, “I lean to the left. And tuck to the left.”
I tilted my head slightly. “Don’t you mean right?”
He started to chuckle at my observation.
He held up his left hand and placed it on his thigh right above the visible bulge. “This is my left. And, since you’re facing me, the opposite would be true for you.”
I felt my cheeks heat at the realization. “Oh.”
“Now, here’s what’s about to happen,” he said softly. “I’m going to take my shirt off.” He did just that, bunching the fabric up at one side and all but ripping the material over his head and tossing it to the floor in one solid move. It was rather impressive, and I’d have to get him to do it again in slow motion next time so I could comprehend what I’d just seen. “And then I’m going to take off my pants.”
He started to do that next, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants in less time than it took for him to tell me what he was about to do.
As he was doing that, he was also stepping out of his slip-on work boots.
The boots were old, well worn, and obviously the pair that he wore, no matter what.
There were splatters of red and white paint on them, as well as deep grooves in them, revealing a steel plate right above his toes.
And they were so worn in some places that they were shiny.
“You are going to get out of those clothes, too,” he said as he slowly started to slip his pants off over his slim hips. “Right?”
I swallowed hard, unable to move.
No, no I didn’t think I could.
Was this real life?
Was what was about to happen to me real? Or was I imagining things?
Or having a really great dream?
All of my other dreams about Price hadn’t been quite this detailed.
They’d been naughty, all right. But not this naughty.
Everything had pretty much been PG-13.
The good stuff always happened in them, but it was like my brain wasn’t quite wired to give me the good stuff without experiencing it first.
Being a virgin who hadn’t watched a single second of porn meant that my imagination was sorely lacking.
“I don’t know that my hands work,” I told him honestly. “I want them to and all, but they’re not doing anything.”
His pants dropped to the floor, the belt buckle sounding so loud as it clanked that it made me blink.
“You wear boxers,” I whispered.
He chuckled darkly as he said, “Not usually, I don’t. But today was wash day. All my things but the clothes I least like to wear are in the washer at home. I’m a boxer brief kind of guy. Usually in the color of black because black is easy to hide stains.”
Stains.
Right.
I eyed the boxers that were hiding him from sight and said, “I like the boxers.”
