Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 14578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 73(@200wpm)___ 58(@250wpm)___ 49(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 73(@200wpm)___ 58(@250wpm)___ 49(@300wpm)
Though those are all scratching at my nerves, there’s something else.
Something I can’t seem to pinpoint.
My eyes land on his belt and then…
I freeze, trying and failing to suck in air. It’s his pants. They’re so…tight. You can see… You can see…
“Eyes up here, Mr. Frosty, or you’ll have yourself a sexual harassment lawsuit.” He laughs. “Seriously, don’t tease me like that.”
All his words are banging around in my head, but all I can focus on is the fact he’s hung and proudly squeezed into slacks that probably fit him in middle school. Now, they’re obscenely too tight.
I can see the outline of his dick.
His large, impressive dick.
Since when are dicks impressive?
Ignoring the thought—since always—I force my eyes up to meet his. The burning is back, searing up my neck and settling on my cheeks.
“It was a joke,” Rylan assures me, stepping closer. Closer and closer and closer. I’m rooted to the spot on my floor, unable to escape his hazelnut haze. “Lighten up, Frosty.”
Up close, I notice he has a few freckles. So few I could count them. For reasons I can’t begin to understand, I want to count them. Maybe I’ll do that now.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two—
“Are you counting my freckles?” Rylan’s face splits into a grin that’s no longer crooked but is wide and reveals straight teeth. All but one incisor. I find the small imperfection endearing.
“I…” I swallow, confused by the way he’s seemed to shake up my mind. “Your tie is crooked.”
He looks down at it, attempts to straighten it, and fails. With a shrug, he looks back up at me, brown eyes the color of caramel boring into me.
“I like hazelnut and caramel,” I mutter absently as I reach up to adjust his tie. “And order.” The bowtie won’t lie straight. With purposeful movements, I lift his collar, locate the source of the problem—the twisted strap—adjust it, and then fix his collar. Once I’ve completed my task of straightening him up, I go back to finish counting his freckles. “There’s only forty-seven,” I say finally. “I’m sure you already knew this.”
Rylan’s cheeks tinge pink and I wonder briefly if I’ve embarrassed him by pointing out his number of freckles or correcting his crooked bowtie problem. I like to fix things. It doesn’t usually extend to a person, but in this instance on this cold January day, it does.
“I didn’t know,” Rylan says, his voice slightly breathless. “I never counted before.”
“Well then. Now you know.”
I want to look away from his face, but something about him demands my attention. It’s strange to me this effect he has on me. As though he’s a witch with a hazelnut spell that’s going to lure me into his trap.
“Your tie is crooked too.” He bites down on one corner of his bottom lip, forcing my eyes there as his hands reach for my tie. I’m about to argue that my tie is most certainly not crooked, but then his fingers are brushing along my neck, sending curls of pleasure dancing through my body. He takes his time testing the knot on my tie and smoothing his hand down over the silky material. I can’t help but wonder if it’s an excuse to touch my chest and abs. The secret thought thrills me, though I don’t know why. His brown eyes lock on mine. “Should I check your belt too?”
My cock reacts to his words. All the blood in my head rushes south, igniting flames inside me, causing my dick to swell and lengthen as if to test the constraints of my slacks. He’s so close I know the second he notices my physiological reaction because a small gasp of surprise escapes him.
“My belt is fine,” I croak out, unable to look away from him, my eyes now fixating on his dark pink lips.
“I’d like to be sure, Mr. Frosty.”
Like an idiot, I nod. “I appreciate your thoroughness.”
A small chuckle escapes him. It doesn’t do anything to help the state of my dick. When his fingers reach my belt, I groan. He brushes his fingertips over the leather before pushing it through the buckle. As he unlatches it and my pants loosen, I have to grab onto his shoulder to keep from swaying.
What is happening right now?
All I know is I want him to pull the belt off completely, to check the button and then the zipper. They could all be out of order. If so, perhaps he could just remove the pants altogether. Check on other areas.
Instead, he refastens my belt. “Looks okay for now, but I’d like to take a closer look later.”
He steps back and I’m horrified to see his dick has reacted to our inappropriate moment as well. I thought I could see all there was to see before, but with him hard, he may as well not be wearing pants at all.