She struggled to a sitting position, rubbed her eyes. Scraped her hands through her hair, messing it up and somehow making it even sexier. Stretched, arching catlike, spine bowing inward, pressing her breasts out and up. Teasing. God, the woman’s tits were the most fantastic pair I’d ever seen in my life, and I absolutely never got tired of them, or used to them. Never would, either.
She caught me staring, and smirked. “You’re ridiculous.”
“What?”
“You literally see, touch, and taste my boobs multiple times a day, every day. Yet you’re still staring at me like you’re dying to get me out of my top.”
“Hey, what can I say? I’m a tits man, and you have the best tits in the world.”
“In the world?” she said, sounding skeptical.
“In the history of the world.”
She shook her head, snorting derisively, but I caught a hint of a pleased and flattered smile as she turned away to buckle up. “You’re just biased.”
“I am not. I’m a boobs expert, and it is my expert opinion that your boobs are the best ever.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m plenty confident in my body, and that I’m not jealous. So just be real, okay? You’re honestly saying, of all the women you’ve seen and slept with, my body is your favorite? You’re not just saying that because you’re currently sleeping with me?”
I debated calling out that phrase––currently sleeping with—but didn’t. “I do mean that.”
“And you’ve mentally compared.”
“Yes.”
“Who else is in the running?”
“Well, everyone else is a distant second and third or whatever.”
“No bullshit, no flattery.”
“You really want details?”
“I really do.”
“Okay, well, I played at a festival with a bunch of other up-and-coming country music stars. And one of them was this new girl named Britt Aubrey. Gorgeous girl, and super talented. She’s probably second, in terms of best body and just overall most beautiful.”
She blinked at me. “I know her. She’s amazing, good with a guitar and a crazy powerful voice. And sexy as hell, to boot. You’re saying I’mmorebeautiful––better body, face, hair, everything––than Britt Aubrey?”
“I’m saying of all the women I’ve known and been with, Britt Aubrey is the only one who can even try to hold a candle to you,” I said as I looked out the window and saw the blue Pacific and the Seattle area below. We would be landing very soon.
She waited until we’d touched down with a squeal and bark of the tires, and then the rushing roar as we slowed to a taxiing roll. “Are you curious where you stand on my roster?”
I shot her an arrogant grin. “Since you’re asking, I’m gonna guess somewhere near the top. I mean, IamMyles North.”
“Myles North and full of yourself.” She unbuckled as we taxied. “But yeah, top of the list would be understating things.”
“So, answer the same question. Who’s on the list?”
“Well, nobody famous for me, except you, obviously. When I was at U-Conn I went with some friends to a frat house kegger at Penn State, and banged the Penn State football team’s star running back. Until you, I’d have put him as the best by far. Tall, jacked, sweet, and hung like a damn horse.”
“And I can compete with tall, jacked, and hung like a horse?”
She snorted as if I’d asked a stupid question. “Yeah, Myles. Tall, shredded, and hung like…well, like an even bigger horse. He was, umm…like, a pony. You’re a draft horse. In the penis department, I mean. He’s got you beat in the big muscles department, but I don’t typically go for the super swole guys anyway. They tend to be obsessed with muscles to an unhealthy degree, in my experience.”
“I tried for years to get bigger, under Jupe’s tutelage. But I’m what they call a hardgainer and eventually, after literally years of lifting wacky heavy and eating thousands and thousands of calories a day, Jupiter was like, you should just quit fighting your body and go for shredded. So that’s what I did. I just can’t get big, or if I did, it would have to be under the kind of insane dedication which, as a professional touring musician, I just don’t have the time for.”
A few minutes later I felt the jet jerk to a stop “Well, let me just say that Ireallyapprove.” She eyed the shower, visible through the open door—a sliding pocket-door. “That looks like a fun shower.”
