Drop Dead Sexy

I bit my tongue from protesting that I wouldn’t have minded. I didn’t care where we had sex as long as we had it. We could bang on the bathroom floor, and I wouldn’t have cared. Hell, I would’ve ridden him on the toilet at that point.

Catcher turned off the shower and then helped me step out. I grabbed a towel and started drying off. When I finished, I picked up a fresh towel. I turned to Catcher and held out the towel. “Want me to dry you off?”

“I’d love for you to.”

I began at his chest, doing wide sweeps across his muscles. The fact he had a dusting of dark chest hair that spread over his pecs and then down his abdomen to his happy trail sent a tingle between my legs. At the same time, I was grateful he didn’t have a hairy back or ass.

When I grazed his erection with the towel, Catcher sucked in a breath. Instead of giving it any attention, I walked around behind him to dry off his back. I was surprised to find in the center of his back a tattoo of a heart, cross, and gun intertwined. “Interesting ink,” I mused aloud, as I rubbed the edible dimples above his ass.

“I got that after I graduated from the GBI academy. It’s something to represent who I am—a man of faith, heart, and honor. I guess the gun is an odd choice to be with the others, but it represented my career in law enforcement.”

“I like it.”

Catcher threw a glance at me over his shoulder. “You ever thought of ink?”

“Actually I have.”

Grabbing the end of the towel, Catcher jerked me around to face him again. “Where.”

“Well, not a tramp stamp.”

He laughed. “You don’t look like the tramp stamp type.” His fingers brushed against the skin above my breast. “You’re not one for a tit-tat either.”

I wrinkled my nose. “No.” I was about to add I wouldn’t have one on my ass either when his fingers swept across my abdomen. “Here?”

My revived vagina wanted to scream, “No here!” so he would touch me there. Thankfully, I managed to get ahold of myself. “I was thinking my shoulder blade or foot.”

“Good choice. Classy but sassy.”

I laughed. “If you say so.”

“Can I say suck my dick?”

I widened my eyes at his request. In my hesitation, Catcher added, “Maybe you want me to beg for it?”

“Maybe I do.”

He took my hand in his and brought it to his throbbing erection. “Olivia, baby, will you please suck my dick? Will you please run your lips and tongue over it like your hand and fingers are doing right now?”

I’d never felt such intense desire to go down on a man before, but with his deep voice, and his rock-hard cock in my hand, I was actually salivating. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to suck his cock. I needed to suck his cock.

I licked my lips. “Yes. God, yes. Here?”

“Where do you want to do it?”

Well damn. No one had ever asked me that question before. Although I’d only had sex with two men, I’d given more than a few blowjobs in my college days. With those, it had usually been the guy unzipping before doing the head push in the dick direction. If they’d thrown in a grunt, it would have been a total caveman act.

“I want you to sit on the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Catcher replied. He brushed past me to leave the bathroom. He went straight to the king-sized bed and plopped down. He then widened his legs to give me room to get between them.

“Nice presentation,” I teased, as I padded across the carpet.

“Why, thank you. I must say the view you’re giving me is pretty fucking amazing, too. I mean, that dress didn’t leave much to the imagination, but damn, you have one fine-as-hell body.”

Instead of wearing his compliment with pride, my face warmed. “You really think I have a good body?” I knelt down before him on the carpet.

Catcher reached out to stroke my cheek. “Baby, I know you do.” He shook his head. “You must walk around with a bag over your head to go so long without sex.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled. After all the years of being the town’s dateless wonder, it was almost too hard for me to comprehend a man as good-looking as Catcher could actually think I was sexy. But he wasn’t just throwing out some pretty words to get in my pants. His tone and his expression appeared truly sincere. And it made sense to reason that if he truly felt I was hideous, he would have run for the hills after our Rusty Ho storeroom bang.

“I mean it, Olivia.”

Holy shit. It was as if Catcher sensed my self-doubt, although I found it hard to consider given he barely knew me. Well, he did in the biblical sense, but not in the vulnerable, insecure, chick way.