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“Your sweater.” I demanded, “Take it off.”
Nick didn’t react; in fact, he followed my eyes, studying my reaction as he first removed his jacket, peeling it off his shoulders, tossing it towards the corner behind me. “You sure you want my sweater?”
“Off, big guy,” I instructed once more.
Nick reached down to the hem of his soft cotton sweater, his knuckles molded and tight, effortlessly lifting it up. First were the lean cuts of his abs, a sight I’d seen before while he lied under my sink: firm and ripped with trimmed black hair that rose towards his navel, a navel framed with hard, olive abs that stretched to his side. His hair was wavy and brown, lighter than the patch that lied over his well-worked chest.
“That wasn’t so hard… now was it?” I choked, his masculine and woodsy scent wafted from my lap as he tossed his sweater towards me. I fisted it in my hands.
Nick reached for another card. “I don’t think you’re ready for a second base card, so I’ll go for first.”
“Oh, stop. I’m ready. These aren’t even that bad.”
“No?” He questioned, lifting a first base card, “Ok, then ‘Describe your Panties to Me’.”
I scrunched my nose, almost bored by the laughable question asked by a shirtless Nick. I could be edgy; I could be like him. “No,” I answered. “Pick a clothing item for me to remove. I’ll do that instead.”
Without hesitation, Nick ordered me immediately. “I want you to remove your panties for me.”
I froze.
Describing them was so boring, but now, I was supposed to take them off? Quickly, I ran through my mind, trying to recall what I wore and if they were any good. Were they my comfortable, loose, cotton panties or something Camilla would approve of? I tried not to hesitate, overwhelmed by how small the elevator suddenly felt.
“Turn around.”
“Did you turn around when I took off my shirt? I recall you looking quite intently… so much so I think you enjoyed it, Miss Elena Ortiz.” He sounded so authoritative saying my full name, like a boss. Whatever the cadence was, it made my knees weak as I stood up.
“Then try not to drool,” I sneered, watching the amusement on his face as I carefully reached beneath my skirt, momentarily lifting it, pinching my thighs as if that alone would stop my skin from showing. Nick’s attention shifted between my legs and waist, stitching his focus to the hint of my panties that appeared for a moment. I almost sighed with relief, feeling the frilly, red lace of my thong as I slid my finger beneath its covering. The graze of my own touch made me so aware of my body, realizing now as I stood how my clit thrummed with a pulse. I tried not to react, but I was turned on, my panties pathetically damp with a wetness I hadn’t even realized had been seeping out. Was it the game? Was it Nick? Everything felt piled on, the mood-stricken elevator casting the most provocative red glow as I shimmed my hips. My panties fell to my heels, their elastic band loose around my ankles as I lifted them free. I felt totally exposed, a sense of coolness now grazing the slick dampness between my legs.
“Toss them to me,” Nick grinned.
“Absolutely not!” I squeaked but was challenged further with Nick’s tempting, deep voice.
“You a prude?”
“As if!” I defended, unknowingly morphing into Cher Horowitz.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes. I’m on the naughty list. Trust me.” I shrugged, feeling a little silly, but not caring, my drunkenness mellowing out into a calming buzz. Although I was sobering up, I was confidently crazy enough to toss them over.
Nick snatched them in the air, its band laced on his thumb, the entirety of its fabric swallowed by his hand. He had the strength to rip them off my body had I still had them on, his forearms firm and corded. God, Camilla was right, he did look like Henry Cavill.
“Red. My favorite color,” he mused.
I wondered if he felt my wetness, his attention diverted to where his finger traced the fabric’s inner layer before shoving them in his pocket. He groaned delightedly, his testy grin like a vice to keep from speaking.
“And your underwear?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Describe them to me. Boxers or briefs?” I sat back down, carefully crossing my legs.
“You want me to answer a steamy question for free?”
“Sure! Naughty girls can’t just get coal. Tell me.”
Nick pondered for a second, then settled his eyes to the ground. He laughed, “Honestly. None. I don’t wear them often, and I certainly don’t wear them to bed.”
