Page 43 of Dirty Work

I slide the zipper down another inch. “If I were, would it be working?”

“Fuck, yeah.” He strokes his already growing erection through his shorts. “Put me out of my misery and lose the Daisy Dukes. And whatever’s underneath them. I want you naked.”

“What about you?” My voice is a breathless whisper, my heart’s racing like a subway train—express, not local—and my damn nipples are standing at attention again. Knowing how I affect him is the biggest turn-on going.

“What about me?” he asks right back, stroking faster.

“Shouldn’t you be naked, too?”

“That can be arranged.”

He stands, grabs the hem of his polo shirt with both hands, and lifts it slowly, teasingly, like in a cheap porno. But way better, because unlike most of those guys—yeah, I not ashamed to admit I’ve watched a few, my trusty vibrator at the ready—Jake’s got a body that’s worthy of a Marvel superhero. I take the time to appreciate each abtastic inch of fine, firm flesh as it’s revealed before the shirt is over his head and on the floor.

Way, way better than PornHub and my rabbit.

“On the count of three,” he says, unbuttoning his shorts and reaching for the zipper tab. “One.”

Our zippers slide down.

“Two.”

Our thumbs hook into our waistbands.

“Three.”

We’re naked and on each other faster than you can say nymphomaniac, our clothes strewn carelessly around the room. We smash into each other, everything—lips, chests, legs—coming together like a perfect, frantic puzzle. It’s more than a kiss. It’s an erotic dance, a prelude to fucking.

Or something more than fucking.

Without warning, he slows things down, removing his mouth from mine and hoisting me into his arms, cradling me against him as he starts to move toward the bedroom door.

“Where are you taking me?” It’s the second time I’ve asked him that question today. I hope his answer is as perfect as it was last time. This day has been the most fun I’ve had in ages. And the most fun I’ve had with a member of the opposite sex—in or out of bed—in, like, ever.

And it’s not over yet. Not by a long shot.

“My room.” His eyes shoot daggers at the alien, still holding court front and center on my bed. “I’m not making love to you with that thing staring at me.”

Making love. Something more than fucking.Another perfect answer from a guy who’s turning out to be pretty perfect, too.

“Shower,” I blurt out, suddenly remembering my initial reason for getting naked. Well, one of the reasons.

“Later.” He shoulders his way through the door into the hallway. “Why get clean when we’re just going to get dirty again?”

He’s got a point, so I don’t argue. Besides, I kind of like him all hot and sweaty. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and sniff, then lick. It’s like I’m back at Coney Island. He tastes and smells of salt water, fried clams and Italian ice.

I press my lips to his jaw.

Delicious.

It takes only a few steps for him to reach the master bedroom. His man cave. The one room I haven’t set foot in since I started staying here.

Until now.

It’s not like he’s got a lock on the door. Or a No Girls Allowed sign. I’ve just never had a reason to go in there. He keeps the door closed, and we’ve been using my room for sexy times. Whether that’s out of habit or something deeper on Jake’s part, I don’t know. I’ve tried not overthink it and live in the moment.

Just like I’m trying to live in this moment and not attach too much significance to our change of venue.

Fortunately, I don’t have time to dwell on it too much because we’ve crossed the threshold into the inner sanctum. Jake lays me down on the California king that dominates the room and stretches out beside me. I expect him to get right down to business, but he surprises me yet again, propping himself up on one elbow and staring at me with a reverence in his eyes that makes my heart flutter and my stomach flip.