head and literally a bucket of sweat goes flying out of his hair.
“We have to do something,” he says. “It's too hot in here! I can't take it!”
“ Just stay calm,” I say. “My dad will be here any minute, I'm sure.”
He wipes his forehead and says, “Look, I really don't want you to take this the wrong way—”
Now I'm worried. Little Dylan Morris has that cheeky look on his face. But it's not his old goofy look. Now he has—it pains me to say— a sexy look about him. I don't know what he's suggesting, but I know I'm not going to like it.
“ I think we should take all our clothes off.”
I burst out laughing. “Forget it!”
He huffs. “Tess, look at me. I'm literally soaked with sweat.”
“ And just what do you suggest we say when we finally get rescued?” I ask. “I can just imagine my father opening the door,” I stand up and smack him on the top of his head, “and he finds me naked with little Dylan Morris! I'd die of embarrassment!”
I turn away from him and cross my arms.
“Well I'm taking my clothes off.”
I swing around, “No, you're not!”
He pulls his shirt off despite my protest. I swallow. Did he notice that? I spin back around and act angry, but all I can really think is: When did Dylan develop a body like that ? I can't turn back around. If I do, he'll know.
I calm myself, but I also can't stare at the wall much longer, so I turn around. He's leaning against some boxes. His naked chest covered in sweat.
My mouth was already dry, but now I'm officially dying.
My eyes widen as he unbuttons his jeans.
“Hold it!” I cry out. He pulls them down to his ankles, then shoots back up and looks at me. Now he's just standing there with his pants around his ankles.
I try to maintain eye contact but it is so-very-hard. I've never felt the effects of gravity so strongly. It's literally pulling my eyes down, but somehow I resist.
Dylan is distracted momentarily. He rubs his eyes and complains about the heat. In that moment the gravitational pull wins out and my eyes shoot down to his groin. He's wearing white boxer shorts, and they are wet with sweat.
One questions races around my mind: What has happened to little Dylan Morris? I don't think I'll ever think of him as little again. In fact, I'm positive.
He leans down and pulls his jeans completely off. He looks relieved.
“ Oh, that's better,” he says.
He looks over at me sweating like mad, and shakes his head.
“Come on, at least take your top off. You'll still have your bra on,” he says. “It's no different than seeing you in your bikini.”
He has a point. I pull my top over my head and stand there. Now I'm thinking of my jeans. If my bra just looks like a bikini, then my underpants do too, right? That's what I tell myself, anyway.
I resist. Someone could open the door at any minute. I was certain my dad would be looking for me. He has a sixth sense when it comes to things like this.
No, my jeans have to stay on.
But I can't resist.
There is now some foreign Force, some horny Dictator in me, that won't give up until my jeans are off. I don't know what it is, but I give in to it and unbutton the first two buttons.
Dylan diverts his eyes. He swallows hard. I can see some movement going on in his boxer shorts, too. I now have all my buttons undone. I begin to pull my sweat soaked jeans down, but they are really hard to get off.
Dylan looks over and asks, “Need some help?”
Oh, don't you wish!
“ Forget it. You just stay over there,” I say. But I have a problem. I seriously can't get my jeans off. They're stuck on me with sweat. I stand back up and rub my forehead.
“ OK, come here,” I say. I sit on the ground and lift my legs up. "Grab my jeans and yank them off." He walks over and leans down to the waist of my jeans! I was expecting him to grab them by the ends, but he's leaning over and grabbing them around the waist line. Now he's wrestling with them. His head is really close to my naked
“We have to do something,” he says. “It's too hot in here! I can't take it!”
“ Just stay calm,” I say. “My dad will be here any minute, I'm sure.”
He wipes his forehead and says, “Look, I really don't want you to take this the wrong way—”
Now I'm worried. Little Dylan Morris has that cheeky look on his face. But it's not his old goofy look. Now he has—it pains me to say— a sexy look about him. I don't know what he's suggesting, but I know I'm not going to like it.
“ I think we should take all our clothes off.”
I burst out laughing. “Forget it!”
He huffs. “Tess, look at me. I'm literally soaked with sweat.”
“ And just what do you suggest we say when we finally get rescued?” I ask. “I can just imagine my father opening the door,” I stand up and smack him on the top of his head, “and he finds me naked with little Dylan Morris! I'd die of embarrassment!”
I turn away from him and cross my arms.
“Well I'm taking my clothes off.”
I swing around, “No, you're not!”
He pulls his shirt off despite my protest. I swallow. Did he notice that? I spin back around and act angry, but all I can really think is: When did Dylan develop a body like that ? I can't turn back around. If I do, he'll know.
I calm myself, but I also can't stare at the wall much longer, so I turn around. He's leaning against some boxes. His naked chest covered in sweat.
My mouth was already dry, but now I'm officially dying.
My eyes widen as he unbuttons his jeans.
“Hold it!” I cry out. He pulls them down to his ankles, then shoots back up and looks at me. Now he's just standing there with his pants around his ankles.
I try to maintain eye contact but it is so-very-hard. I've never felt the effects of gravity so strongly. It's literally pulling my eyes down, but somehow I resist.
Dylan is distracted momentarily. He rubs his eyes and complains about the heat. In that moment the gravitational pull wins out and my eyes shoot down to his groin. He's wearing white boxer shorts, and they are wet with sweat.
One questions races around my mind: What has happened to little Dylan Morris? I don't think I'll ever think of him as little again. In fact, I'm positive.
He leans down and pulls his jeans completely off. He looks relieved.
“ Oh, that's better,” he says.
He looks over at me sweating like mad, and shakes his head.
“Come on, at least take your top off. You'll still have your bra on,” he says. “It's no different than seeing you in your bikini.”
He has a point. I pull my top over my head and stand there. Now I'm thinking of my jeans. If my bra just looks like a bikini, then my underpants do too, right? That's what I tell myself, anyway.
I resist. Someone could open the door at any minute. I was certain my dad would be looking for me. He has a sixth sense when it comes to things like this.
No, my jeans have to stay on.
But I can't resist.
There is now some foreign Force, some horny Dictator in me, that won't give up until my jeans are off. I don't know what it is, but I give in to it and unbutton the first two buttons.
Dylan diverts his eyes. He swallows hard. I can see some movement going on in his boxer shorts, too. I now have all my buttons undone. I begin to pull my sweat soaked jeans down, but they are really hard to get off.
Dylan looks over and asks, “Need some help?”
Oh, don't you wish!
“ Forget it. You just stay over there,” I say. But I have a problem. I seriously can't get my jeans off. They're stuck on me with sweat. I stand back up and rub my forehead.
“ OK, come here,” I say. I sit on the ground and lift my legs up. "Grab my jeans and yank them off." He walks over and leans down to the waist of my jeans! I was expecting him to grab them by the ends, but he's leaning over and grabbing them around the waist line. Now he's wrestling with them. His head is really close to my naked
Similar Books
