Hung

I headed into the kitchen and stopped by the window above the sink to watch Dalton. He was close enough that when he lifted up the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat and dirt from his face, I saw his toned, six-pack abdomen in clear view. He had a trail of dark hair starting below his navel that disappeared into his jeans. Everything in me tightened, and I actually reached out and gripped the edge of the counter.

Girl, get your mind out the gutter.

And that’s exactly where my thoughts went. What did he look like naked? How accurate was that bulge he sported?

I turned away and went through the task of cooking lunch, having decided on sandwiches, homemade potato salad, fresh-squeezed lemonade, watermelon slices, and some chips. Once everything was prepared and on the table, I was about to holler for them to come eat but noticed they were already headed up to the house. I couldn’t help but chuckle; their stomachs were better than any damn clock around.

I focused on washing dishes just as I heard the front door open and the screen slam shut. Jax and Charlie started arguing as they headed into the bathroom to clean up.

This was my new normal, and God, I was loving it.

I was just cleaning up the mess from dinner when I felt Dalton step into the kitchen. He’d taken a shower right after the meal, and I swore I could smell the pine soap he used wafting from the bathroom and filling the kitchen.

Or maybe I just wanted him so badly I was losing my mind.

I looked over my shoulder and wore a friendly smile, but his expression had that smile fading and something hotter taking its place.

He looked at me like he was still hungry for something other than food.

“Hey,” he said in a husky voice.

“Hi,” I tried to respond in a calm manner. I didn’t want him seeing, the affect he had on me. It was starting to get uncontrollable.

There he was, standing before me in nothing but a pair of black sweats and nothing else. No shirt, no shoes, just all his hard, sun-kissed skin on clear display. His abdomen was a work of art, his forearms defined with sinew and tendons, this raw masculinity pouring from him. His hair was slightly damp from the shower, and I curled my fingers into my palms at how good he looked.

I couldn’t help the thought that slammed into my head of him throwing me onto the table and having his filthy way with me right here and now.

I turned around and cleared my throat, drying off my hands with a rag and pretending that I wasn’t aroused right now, or that I hadn’t been checking him out. I tried to think of something more innocent, nonsexual.

He moved into the kitchen, and my heart started pounding a little harder, a little faster. God, he looked and smelled so good. And the whole time, he watched me. It was probably nothing, but it sure felt like something.

We said nothing, just stood there, watching each other, the heat seeming to grow in the room. And then I watched as he inhaled.

“You smell good,” he murmured, and I saw the way he lowered his eyes to my chest before snapping them back up, as if he hadn’t meant to get caught.

“It’s the lavender dish soap.” I could have slapped a hand over my mouth. God, that sounded stupid. The sight of his chest, of his broad shoulders and tanned skin, of the droplets of water that he didn’t quite get with the towel sliding down his flesh, had me wanting to lean in and lick them off.

I was so needy and wet.

He took a step closer to me, and I found myself taking a step back, the sink stopping my retreat. What was he doing?

I found myself licking my lips, unsure what to say, unsure what the hell was even going on. The room was unbearably hot all of a sudden, and I found beads of sweat starting to dot my forehead. Dalton’s jaw and cheeks still had several days’-worth of scruff covering them, and I found that so incredibly attractive for some reason.

“What are you doing?” I finally found my voice and whispered those words. Was I imagining this, having some kind of mental breakdown, because my desires were so strong in my head I was seeing them come to life?

Oh my God, you’re losing your mind.

I smelled the whiskey on his breath, the couple shots he’d had after dinner. Was he drunk right now? Buzzed? I stared into his eyes and saw the glossy hint in them, wondered if this was why he was being so bold, so… unlike himself.

He cleared his throat, blinked a few times, and then stepped back, as if he realized what he’d been doing. “I—I’m sorry.” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “It’s the whiskey. I don’t really drink the hard stuff, but it was one hell of a day with the horses and trying to get the stables in order. I guess the alcohol went right to my head.” He lifted his arm and ran his hand over his hair, mussing the dark strands even more. “Sorry. That was highly inappropriate, crowding you like that.”