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I’ll never take it.
I’ll combust on his carpet.
A plume of steam escapes the bathroom as he steps out.
In nothing but a towel.
Wiping the side of my mouth to check if I’m drooling, my eyes follow each droplet of water as it glides over each muscle.
Lower.
And lower.
Over the deep V in his pelvis before it absorbs into the white cotton towel.
I lick my lips.
I’m jealous of a droplet of water.
“Claire?”
My eyes snap back. My cheeks aren’t the only part of me burning anymore.
“Am…” What the hell did I come in here for? “Oh, I lost my phone.”
Silence and an amused snigger are his only response.
“Can I use your phone to call mine?”
“Get on the bed.”
My mouth falls open.
“Excuse me?”
His eyes narrow. I’m shifting on my feet to ease the throb between my legs.
“It. Is. On. The. Bed,” he repeats slowly.
Oh.
I’m fantasizing and hearing things again.
And I’m wet now.
I could suggest he wear a onesie when he’s indoors, but I know he’d still look like sex-on-legs.
“Are you feeling okay?”
No. I keep thinking about how, with one movement, I could whip the towel from your waist.
“Great. Thanks.”
I turn and grab his phone from the bed.
“You should put a password on this.”
“Why?”
