reasons he had avoided sex altogether. Being with someone new was awkward enough with two legs.
He wasn’t sure how a woman would respond to his stump and prosthetic limb. Would she be repulsed? Or worse, would she find it sexy?
He hated to admit it, but he was afraid to find out. And that fear was compounded by the fact that he’d had sex with only one woman: Andrea. All his sexual experience was limited to his ex-wife and what she had preferred.
After pulling the practice T-shirt over his thermal, Zeke headed to the kitchen. On the way through the living room, he caught sight of Roby. The dog was lying on his belly on the Afghan rug with a scrap of purple material tucked between his front paws.
Knowing that it wasn’t one of the dog’s squeaky toys, Zeke distracted the animal by scratching behind his pointy ears. With his other hand, he snatched the unknown item from the Doberman’s paws. That was when he realized that Roby’s misappropriated plaything was a pair of bikini panties.
Margo’s panties.
Tiny. Lacy. Delicate.
Sexy.
And then his brain disobeyed a direct order from its commanding officer. It conjured up an image of Margo wearing these panties and nothing else.
The color would glow vibrantly against her creamy skin. The miniscule triangle would barely hide her pussy; it might even reveal some strawberry-blond curls. And the stretchy lace would lovingly hug the round curve of her ass.
Oh, yeah, Margo had a great ass. He’d noticed it before; he was a man, and he wasn’t blind.
But she was his roommate. And more important, she was way too young and too full of joy for someone like him.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her in her underwear. He shouldn’t be wondering if the pair he held were fresh out of the laundry or if she’d already worn them. And he sure as hell shouldn’t be getting hard just by thinking about how she’d smell, especially when his dick hadn’t been interested in any woman since he’d lost his leg.
His insubordinate brain needed to be court-martialed, found guilty, and sentenced to life in Leavenworth.
Zeke stalked to Margo’s bathroom, tossed the panties inside, and slammed the door shut, though he didn’t know what good that would do since Roby could open doors. Her dog wasn’t nearly as well-behaved as she thought he was.
With that taken care of, Zeke grabbed a granola bar from the pantry. As he bit into the chewy snack, he warned his brain to never again think about Margo naked.
She wasn’t naked, his brain countered belligerently. She was wearing panties.
He groaned under his breath. This wasn’t good. He couldn’t lust after his roommate. It would ruin everything.
On the way out the door, he grabbed his fleece jacket. Although it was still light outside, the temperature had started to fall, and it was a little chilly.
As he made the trip to Lindley Meadow, he forced himself to think about softball instead of Margo and her sexy underwear. So many Riley O’Brien & Co. employees had signed up for the late-spring/early-summer league, the company had formed multiple teams to compete and coordinated the practice times and locations for each team.
Because they were playing slow-pitch softball, ten players were on each team. All the teams had jeans-related names, like Pockets and Zippers. Zeke couldn’t decide if the names were inventive or idiotic.
His team—the Rivets—consisted of six men and four women. Prior to practice, everyone on the team had received an email with the practice schedule, game schedule, and assigned equipment manager. Fortunately, Zeke wasn’t responsible for that onerous task.
Based on Zeke’s initial assessment, his teammates ranged in age from early twenties to late sixties. He seemed to fall somewhere in between.
Did that make him middle-aged? Probably so.
Zeke and his teammates stood in a circle near the edge of the softball diamond. He didn’t know any of them personally, but he knew of one of them: Cal O’Brien, the
He wasn’t sure how a woman would respond to his stump and prosthetic limb. Would she be repulsed? Or worse, would she find it sexy?
He hated to admit it, but he was afraid to find out. And that fear was compounded by the fact that he’d had sex with only one woman: Andrea. All his sexual experience was limited to his ex-wife and what she had preferred.
After pulling the practice T-shirt over his thermal, Zeke headed to the kitchen. On the way through the living room, he caught sight of Roby. The dog was lying on his belly on the Afghan rug with a scrap of purple material tucked between his front paws.
Knowing that it wasn’t one of the dog’s squeaky toys, Zeke distracted the animal by scratching behind his pointy ears. With his other hand, he snatched the unknown item from the Doberman’s paws. That was when he realized that Roby’s misappropriated plaything was a pair of bikini panties.
Margo’s panties.
Tiny. Lacy. Delicate.
Sexy.
And then his brain disobeyed a direct order from its commanding officer. It conjured up an image of Margo wearing these panties and nothing else.
The color would glow vibrantly against her creamy skin. The miniscule triangle would barely hide her pussy; it might even reveal some strawberry-blond curls. And the stretchy lace would lovingly hug the round curve of her ass.
Oh, yeah, Margo had a great ass. He’d noticed it before; he was a man, and he wasn’t blind.
But she was his roommate. And more important, she was way too young and too full of joy for someone like him.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her in her underwear. He shouldn’t be wondering if the pair he held were fresh out of the laundry or if she’d already worn them. And he sure as hell shouldn’t be getting hard just by thinking about how she’d smell, especially when his dick hadn’t been interested in any woman since he’d lost his leg.
His insubordinate brain needed to be court-martialed, found guilty, and sentenced to life in Leavenworth.
Zeke stalked to Margo’s bathroom, tossed the panties inside, and slammed the door shut, though he didn’t know what good that would do since Roby could open doors. Her dog wasn’t nearly as well-behaved as she thought he was.
With that taken care of, Zeke grabbed a granola bar from the pantry. As he bit into the chewy snack, he warned his brain to never again think about Margo naked.
She wasn’t naked, his brain countered belligerently. She was wearing panties.
He groaned under his breath. This wasn’t good. He couldn’t lust after his roommate. It would ruin everything.
On the way out the door, he grabbed his fleece jacket. Although it was still light outside, the temperature had started to fall, and it was a little chilly.
As he made the trip to Lindley Meadow, he forced himself to think about softball instead of Margo and her sexy underwear. So many Riley O’Brien & Co. employees had signed up for the late-spring/early-summer league, the company had formed multiple teams to compete and coordinated the practice times and locations for each team.
Because they were playing slow-pitch softball, ten players were on each team. All the teams had jeans-related names, like Pockets and Zippers. Zeke couldn’t decide if the names were inventive or idiotic.
His team—the Rivets—consisted of six men and four women. Prior to practice, everyone on the team had received an email with the practice schedule, game schedule, and assigned equipment manager. Fortunately, Zeke wasn’t responsible for that onerous task.
Based on Zeke’s initial assessment, his teammates ranged in age from early twenties to late sixties. He seemed to fall somewhere in between.
Did that make him middle-aged? Probably so.
Zeke and his teammates stood in a circle near the edge of the softball diamond. He didn’t know any of them personally, but he knew of one of them: Cal O’Brien, the
Similar Books
