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My eyes follow Hans as he opens one of the four doors lining the far wall, revealing a closet.
More scars mark his back, with one particularly long line of raised flesh two inches away from his spine.
“You have other houses?” My question comes out breathy.
“A few,” Hans replies, then he drops his towel.
Andholy ass cheeks, this man is built like a Viking god. Battle marks and all.
Even though I’ve had his tongue, fingers, and cock inside me, I haven’t seen him naked. Not even shirtless. Until right now.
When he bends down to pull on a pair of black boxer briefs, I get a glimpse of his balls hanging down between his legs, and I have to brace my hand on the wall.
Lord have mercy, why is that hot?
When he starts to pull on a pair of black pants, like the ones he wore to dinner at my parents’, I drag my eyes away to look around the rest of the room.
Opposite the weapon wall is what I can only describe as a monitor wall. Like something out of one of those Jason Bourne movies. Rows of screens, all turned off at the moment, mounted above a counter that runs the length of the wall.
“Wait, did you say you have a few houses?” I ask as I walk over to stand behind the rolling office chair centered in front of the monitors.
“We’ll talk about it after. Okay?”
I turn back in time to see Hans lacing up a pair of his boots, black T-shirt already in place. “After?”
Righting himself, Hans moves to the weapon wall.
He slips a shoulder holster off a hook and shrugs it on.
I watch in fascination as he selects two matching handguns, doing that thing people do in the movies to check the clips, then shoving them into the spots on the holster. Then he grabs a long knife in a fabric sheath and attaches the whole thing to his belt.
“You’re like Batman,” I whisper. He’s only missing the cape and mask.
Hans shakes his head. “Nah. My parents got rich off mining.”
His tone is dry, and it sounds like he’s joking. But I guess I don’t know the Batman lore that well because I don’t understand the joke.
“Wait.” It suddenly dawns on me what he’s doing. “You’re going over there.”
Hans nods, then gestures for me to move so he can pull the chair out.
I do, and then he points. “Sit.”
I comply.
Hans grips the back of the chair and turns me to face the monitors.
I don’t see a way to turn them on, but then Hans flips up some hidden panel in the counter and a keyboard appears before me.
He taps a few keys, and the screens come to life.
I lean forward, trying to get a closer look, since most of the screens are split into four quadrants.
“What…” Then I recognize what I’m seeing.
A view from Hans’s front door, at eye level. A view of the street. A few more of what must be Hans’s yard. My house.
Lots of views of my house.
