Quit Bein' Ugly (The Southern Gentleman 3)

When I knocked on the door, though, the reverberation down my arm made me grimace, which was when she chose to answer the door.

She frowned hard at me. “You look rough.”

I felt rough.

But better.

“I’m okay,” I admitted, holding up my shirt and tie. “Will you help me get dressed?”

She grinned then.

“Yeah,” she agreed immediately, opening the door wide. “The dogs are actually in the back yard playing with Francis. Well, Francis and Lion are playing. Danger is watching but getting closer and closer by the second.”

I wanted to see this, so I passed her and walked to her back door where I looked out.

Sure enough, Lion was in the kiddy pool that Carmichael had spoken about yesterday, and Francis had only his head buried.

“Do you think that the raccoon is feral?” I asked curiously. “I mean, Lion has all her shots, but still.”

“I think that she’s probably fine,” Carmichael admitted, taking my suit jacket, tie and shirt from me. “Turn around.”

I did, my eyes taking her in.

She was wearing a short pair of sleep shorts that were loose and flowy. Something that I could easily slip my hand up one of the leg holes if I wanted.

Her shirt was an old shirt that had seen better days. It said “Track & Field” on it in white, cracked letters.

I wanted to rip it off of her and pull her in so I could feel her skin against mine.

With only a single glance, I knew that she was naked underneath that shirt. No bra to be found.

I also knew that when she shifted, her breasts would bounce with the flow of her movements.

I groaned and looked away, my eyes going to the pool outside to watch the dog and the raccoon play.

“Arm,” she ordered, holding my shirt out.

I gave her my bad arm and she help me thread it into place but paused when she got it halfway up my arm.

“You’re not wearing an undershirt today?” she asked curiously.

I shook my head. “Couldn’t find a clean one. I need to do some laundry.”

“I think that you need help.” She laughed. “I have a shirt you can wear. It might be short, but I stole it from Flint last year and it should fit.”

She dropped the shirt she was holding back onto the counter after carefully taking it off my arm and then headed into her room.

And I was right.

Her breasts swayed prettily underneath that shirt.

Even worse, her ass jiggled in her shorts.

I wasn’t sure which one made me harder.

Though, the longer that I stood in the kitchen wondering about it, the surer I became.

I’d fallen in love with Carmichael the day that she’d walked in in her short shorts. So, the answer was her ass. Her ass definitely made me harder.

“Here,” she shook the shirt out. “It’s not too wrinkled, either. I just wore it last night. Hope that doesn’t bother you.”

Wearing a shirt that smelled like her? Yeah, that definitely wouldn’t bother me.

“No, that’s fine,” I admitted. “Anything will work right now.”

She helped me get it on over my head, then helped me thread each arm through.

She was right, the shirt was a bit short, but still long enough that I would need to tuck it in.

Speaking of tucking it in…

“I can’t do that.” I shook my head when she gestured at me to tuck it in. “It was hard enough putting the belt on. I couldn’t even get it into the usual hole that I use.”

She frowned hard at me and bit her lip as she contemplated what she was about to say next.

“I can help,” she said softly.

My jaw tightened. “Go for it.”

At first, I thought she was just going to tuck my shirt in without unbuckling my belt, but she shocked the absolute shit out of me by not only unbuckling my belt, but also unbuttoning and unzipping my pants.

By the time that she had my pants hanging open, my cock was so hard that it was holding my pants in place by sheer volume.

Her eyes widened at first, obviously having seen what I’d felt, but she didn’t say a word as she tucked the shirt in, then helped button me back in my pants.

It wasn’t until she was doing the belt up that she accidentally brushed her knuckles along my cock.

I clenched my molars together as I tried to breathe through the orgasm that I’d nearly had just by her brushing her knuckles against my clothed dick.

“Arms,” she murmured, her voice a bit husky.

I gave her my bad arm, grimacing only slightly when she got it all the way into place.

I’d just gotten it up onto my shoulders when she immediately started to button up the buttons.

Which was when we realized the problem.

She should’ve waited to tuck my shirt in until the button-up shirt was on because now we’d have to go through the whole process all over again.