“I’m already in DFW,” Murphy said. “This is my hometown.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Callahan?”
She nodded. “I’m in LA right now at the end of a month-to-month job, and my fiancé is self-employed. I can be in Texas tomorrow.”
“Perfect. I’d like to leave for Alaska as soon as possible, so get whatever paperwork done that’s needed, and let me know when we can take off.”
“Sounds good,” Murphy said.
“Same,” Callahan echoed.
I ended the meeting and turned to see Lexie emerging from the bathroom, a towel around her head, another around her torso cinched under her armpits, cleaning out her ears with a Q-tip. Despite the fact that I’d had her less than an hour ago, the sight of Lexie Goode in nothing but a towel was arousing enough to make my dick twitch. And by twitch, I mean stick straight up, hard as a rock. She wasn’t even naked, dammit. But the towel was tiny, a negligible rectangle of white which when cinched around her torso barely closed, the slit in front revealing taunting glimpses of her naked belly, sex, and thighs, and when she turned around, the lower curve of her buttocks as well.
Damn, damn, and double damn, the woman was a fucking siren. Five-six, maybe closer to five-seven. Curvy asfuck. I mean, my god, the woman had curves for days. Brick shithouse. Her tits made my eyes bug out, and the fact that she wasn’t shy about them, wasn’t modest pretty much at all, and didn’t mind flaunting her body made it even better—you’d think with my lifelong exposure to naked boobs that I’d have a better grasp of boob size to bra size, but I didn’t. Maybe because most of the tits I saw were naked, rarely contained in bras. Growing up touring with Dad and Grandpa, I saw more than my share of flashers at concerts and festivals, chicks walking around topless backstage. Then, as I toured myself, both as an underground performer doing the grind and as a top-bill artist selling out venues worldwide, I had way more than my fair share of groupies and backstage bunnies prancing around in various stages of undress.
I digress.
Point being, I had no fucking clue what size her boobs were, other thanbig. More than a handful, for sure. Being just barely twenty-one, her tits were perky, with small, dark areolae, plump nipples which were insanely sensitive, with lots of those delicious little bumps around the nipples and areolae. They hung low, bottom-heavy, her pert little nips directly dead center. Impossibly proportioned, I would have said, considering the tuck-in of her waist and the swell of her hips. Again, being as familiar with breasts as I was, I knew they were natural—not that I cared either way.
Her hips were…how do I say it without sounding like an asshole or repeating myself? She wasn’t a delicate girl, Lexie. Not overweight at all, but given the improbable size of her tits, I’ll just say she was equally well proportioned below the waist. Thick thighs, no gap, bell-curve hips, plump round ass that had a hypnotic jiggle and sway to it. If she carried anything extra, it was in her hips, ass, and thighs, and she carried it like a fucking goddess.
Her hair was black as ink, buzzed short on the sides and long enough on the top that the tips brushed just past her jaw; she was super creative and daring with her hair—sometimes it was just loose and wild, other times she would style it to brush over to one side or the other, or she would slick it straight back, or braid it tight against her scalp. Never did her hair the same way two days in a row, just however it suited her fancy that day. Her eyes were the exact shade of a milk chocolate bar, and every bit as fiery and expressive as her mouth.
She tossed the Q-tips into the kitchen trash, tugged the towel off her head, and tossed it over the back of the chair. She bent over at the waist, flipping her hair upside down and scrubbing her fingers through it vigorously, then whipped upright and flipped her hair backward. I watched this with rapt attention, lower lip in my teeth, cock hardening.
She glanced at me, lifted an eyebrow. “Whatcha thinkin’ about over there, Myles?”
I chuckled. “Just enjoying the view, babe.”
She frowned. “I’m in a towel.”
I shrugged. “You make that towel look sinful.”
She indicated my hard-on. “You, um…okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.” I ran a hand through my hair. “But I mean, if you’re offering…”
She smirked. “I just got out of the shower, and just brushed my teeth.”
“Kidding, Lex.” I winked at her. “Mostly.”
She sidled over to me. “I mean,youhaven’t showered yet, have you?”
“Nope.”
“You planning on it?”
“Yup. We got errands to run today.”
She made a slow show of untucking her towel and letting it fall off, but held it so it hung in front of her, blocking my view of the goods. “Soyoucould get messy.”
I set the iPad aside, once again feeling that ridiculous thrill of anticipation—with Lex, I never knew what she was going to do, how she would do it, where, when, or why. She was unpredictable, especially sexually. And I fucking loved it.
And no, I’m not taking back that word.
“Yeah, I could get messy.”
She tossed the towel over my groin, leaving herself naked, and sat down beside me. The towel was tented comically erect over my hard-on; she lifted the towel and set it aside. Wrapped one hand around my erection and slid her touch upward. Twisted. Down. I swallowed hard, watching her small hand gliding over my cock, twisting and plunging.
