Page 21 of Beyond the Fame

“You hurt yourself when you fell, remember? I'm going to clean it, so I need you to stay still.”

I hear him hiss in a breath when I wipe the wound with the antiseptic towelette.

“Come on. It’s not that bad,” I say with a smile.

He relaxes at my playful tone. Silence stretches between us as I work, and when I look up, he’s staring at me.

“You’re so beautiful, Rebecca,” he says in a whispery voice.

Rebecca.

He didn’t call me Becky.

Heat pools between my legs at how intimately he said my name. I ignore it and keep cleaning his injuries. Once finished bandaging his right palm, checking his left and finding no scrapes, I kneel and get to work on his knee.

He watches me in this highly sexual position and if we weren’t in the bathroom—him perched on a freaking toilet drunk—maybe I’d help him with that erection forming.

After placing the last Band-Aid over his cut, I stand and he crushes me to him, wrapping his long, tattooed arms around me. He buries his head into my soft stomach and inhales deeply.

“You smell amazing.” His hands flatten on my back, moving up and down. “Like peaches and flowers.”

My fingers find their way to the mess of soft, loose curls on his head, and I scratch my nails over his scalp.

He moans and pulls back to rest his chin on my stomach just above my belly button.

“Let me kiss you, Becky.”

Oh, so we’re back to Becky now?

That breaks whatever spell this man was putting on me. I free myself from his arms and step back.

“I’ll help you get into bed.”

His shoulders slump, and he pouts again as we leave the massive bathroom. I stop him at the side of the bed and fold back the blanket and sheets.

“Take off your clothes,” I say and turn around to find him something to sleep in.

“You take off my clothes.” I don’t see the smirk, but I sure heard it.

I ignore the cocky asshole and rifle through the dresser drawers—impressed that he unpacked—until finding a pair of plaid pajamas. Of course, he’d have flannel pajamas.

He's so ridiculous.

Yet, why do I find it adorable?

Shaking my head, I turn around to hand Jensen his sleep clothes. He’s all but naked except for his boxer briefs and the full erection he’s sporting.

I’ve been with men of all sizes—short, tall, big, small.

Jensen is a big guy. Plus-size, I suppose. Over three hundred pounds if I had to guess and maybe six-two compared to my five-five. His body matches the lumberjack outfits he favors. Hairy chest, beefy arms and thighs—all of which are covered in tattoos. Designs that I can’t focus on because I want to get a good look at the rest of his body.

He doesn’t have abs. His stomach jiggles like mine, and I let myself imagine kissing along his chest, down his torso until reaching that thick and long—

I look away, blushing, my mouth definitely not watering at the thought of taking his dick down my throat.

“Here.” I hold out the clothes to him.

“Were you checking me out?” he asks, taking his pajamas.

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