Page 52 of Endgame

The woman tricked me into thinking the curtain was secured with herbehindit. That’s not what I witnessed.

I may be a gentleman, but I’ve never claimed to be a saint. Somehow in that short glimpse, I managed to get an eyeful, and my stupid fucking brain is committing it to memory.

Her full tits with dark nipples peaked at attention.

Her hourglass figure, deliciously smooth, and even more captivating with her bikini tan line.

The steaming water dripped down the valley of her chest, leading to the place my cock is currently craving.

I'm a sick man. I hate that I saw her that way.

Yes, it was an incredible sight, but one I’d love to see with her heart attached to it as well.

Thankfully for both of us, it was over before it ended.

“Dakota. What are you doing?”

I’m back to facing the door, not trusting her anymore to behave.

Her giggling never lets up.

Despite her little stunt, it makes me really happy to hear her laugh. “Did you see your face? Have you never seen a pair of titties before, cutie? I’ve got big ole titties, and I didn’t even have to buy them.” I can imagine her silly, beautiful grin right now.

Chuckling to myself, likely enough that she can hear me, I give into her slightly. “And what perfect big ole titties you have.”

Jesus Christ. She won’t remember this in the morning, but I will.

“Oops, you said titties! Hey, Callaway?”

She’s insane but beautiful and stubborn, and everything I’m finding I can’t help but love about her.

“Yes, angel?”

“I’m done.” I must have zoned out at some point because I managed to miss the sound of the water turning off and her exiting the shower. I need to make sure she’s covered before I turn around.

“Are your big ole titties covered? Don’t lie to me.” I couldn’t help myself.

“They are secured!” I turn around to Dakota saluting me.Saluting me.

No doubt she will be mortified when she hears about this.

I move to stand back slightly, giving myself enough room to open the bathroom door, and allow her to head out first to change.

“After you.”

Entering Dakota’s room,I immediately start searching her drawers for some sleep clothes for her to wear. Her feet lead her directly to the bed; I’m sure the early signs of a headache are approaching.

It takes me multiple tries to find the drawer that holds what I’m looking for and holy fuck; the woman has a never-ending supply of graphic tees.

Securing the Pink Floyd one, I shuffle to find panties.

If only Navy could see me now. This wouldn’t look good. I tried to be a gentleman by making sure she got home safely, ended up catching a glimpse of her naked and rummaging through her lace panties.

I’d never admit the note I made of that observation out loud.

“Got 'em.”

Panties and t-shirt secured, I make my way to where Dakota is now sprawled out on her bed, wrapped in a large towel, lucky for me—or not, and I notice her staring at the ceiling fan, clearly lost in thought.

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