He’s all I think about, that kiss in the kitchen, his body above mine in my bed. If I were exclusive…I can’t get those words out of my mind. He doesn’t make it any easier, either, when he trots over to my house first thing each morning for a cup of coffee and all he wears are those low-hanging boxers. He watches me over the rim of his mug, sees the way I stare at him, his arms, his hands, his chest. He smiles into his coffee when he moves his leg and I can see the outline of his d**k through his shorts, lying high across his thigh, half-hard because he’s already told me he wants me. “You’re just my type,” he tells me. He talks about s*x like it’s the weather, no shame, no modesty. I envy that. “I like my guys a little on the thin side. I bet you have a big dick.”
What do you say to someth
