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“Gotta live a little, Doc. It’s not good to be so uptight. You’re puckered tighter than my virgin asshole.”
I flush and somehow manage to choke on my own saliva. He twists the cap off a beer and holds it out to me.
I clear my throat. “I prefer wine, so, no, thank you.”
He shrugs and gulps it down. I watch in morbid fascination as he consumes the entire thing in four swallows. He sets the empty bottle down on the counter with a clink and swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he opens another one and takes a long sip.
“Can I take a shower? I’m filthy,” he asks, meeting my gaping stare.
He absolutely is. And now I’m thinking about those sweaty abs I’d ogled earlier.
“Yes,” I manage to say, and he peels his shirt off and flings it over his shoulder, and then he grabs his beer and moves back to the bedroom.
I absolutely do not watch him go.
I would never do that.
I have the self-control of a monk.
Reaching up, I grab a wine glass, fill it to the brim, and take measured sips. There is no way in hell I can get drunk around Luke. There’s no telling what I’d do; what hidden, carefully guarded part of me I’d show him.
Luke saunters out ten minutes later with wet hair, wearing a pair of my sweatpants. And holy hell, they’re tight. Too damn tight, and about three inches too short. His ankles are showing and flexing as he walks, and I’ve never once had the thought that ankles were sexy, but fuck, his are. My eyes travel up and he’s not wearing a shirt. I’m slightly horrified with myself as I stare wide-eyed at the water droplets dribbling from his hair, down his muscled chest.
“Oh, please. Just help yourself to my clothes,” I say, gulping down my second glass of wine.
So much for measured sips.
“Thanks, Doc. You’re so generous. Did you eat yet?” he asks, eyeing the unopened bag of food, and I shake my head, licking my lips. His eyes track the movement, and I feel myself grow warm.
I should turn the heat down in here.
“It’s polite to wait,” I say, feeling slightly buzzed. Perhaps I should have eaten to negate this drunken state I’m almost in. I’m a total lightweight.
He snorts. “No need for any kind of formality with me, Eli.” He reaches into the bag and then hands me a burger and fries. “You can just be yourself.”
No, I absolutelycannot. I will not let myself be vulnerable like that again.
Luke rips into a burger and leans a hip against the counter, grabbing a third beer and popping the cap open.
“Did you drink your other beer in the shower?” I ask.
“’Course. Best way to do it. Hot shower, cold beer. Life can’t get any better than that.”
I sigh, pour myself a third glass of wine, and take a tentative bite of the hamburger. It’s greasy and cheesy and fucking delicious. I will not moan or show him how much I am enjoying this. It’s a slippery slope from here. Next thing I know, his dick will be in my hole.
And then I’ll be so overcome with emotion, I’ll end up on one knee, proposing.
Fuck, I am never doing that again.
“It’s good, huh? All that grease. You can feel it clogging your arteries with each swallow,” Luke says with a smirk, not realizing where my thoughts have gone. “I can see you orgasming from over here.”
I take another bite. “I am not.”
He stuffs his mouth full of more burger and even fits a few fries in. It’s impressive how much he can shove in there. That only comes with practice.
Luke gulps it all down, then pulls out a second hamburger, ripping into it.
“You eat like an animal,” I say, resisting the urge to lick my fingers.
