Page 146 of You've Got Hate Mail
“You were hard two mornings ago.”
“You.”
The glow is back.
The glow that comes with believing he’s attracted to me.
Not just anyone.
Tome.
I roll my fist down his length again, and his breath catches.
“Good?” I whisper.
“Fuck yes.”
His body is gorgeous.
Wide shoulders. Solid trunk. Flat copper nipples. Dark chest hair. His arms are sculpted and veiny, and his legs are thick and strong.
And his penis—it’s a work of art.
Large. Bold. Commanding. Standing fully erect over a nest of curls, with tight balls that I take time to stroke and play with too.
Heath as a person, fully clothed, is irresistible. Capable and smart and able to do nearly anything, with a patience that he might have to work hard for, but he does it.
And that’s attractive as hell. Knowing that he actively tries to be a good person—how could anyone not love that?
His body’s the icing on the cake.
And tonight, I get to play to my heart’s content.
Well, probably not that much.
But more than I have before.
“Cricket—” He gasps as I stroke up his length once more.
“I like your penis,” I whisper.
“He likes you too. Too much.”
His voice is strangled, and it’s impossible not to smile.
The idea that this man likesme—that he trusts me with his naked body—my heart is soaring.
He likes me.
“Are you saying I need to stop?” I ask.
“No. But yes. But no.”
He grips my wrist, stilling my hand, and he breathes hard, eyes pinched shut like he’s trying to get himself under control.
It’s almost better than the orgasm he just gave me, knowing thatI’mdoing this to him.
I’m driving him mad.
