Page 33 of Dashing for Love

Then it hits me. And I jump up to make sure I’m, you know, decent.

After the fastest manscaping in the history of manscaping, I’ve shut my bedroom door to keep the dogs and cats out and turned on the bedside light. I look at my bed, grateful I make it on the regular, and position the pillows against the headboard. My phone lights up with the video, so I launch myself onto the bed, shake off the nerves, and lean back against the pillows. I make sure the camera isn’t pointing at my face.

“Hey,” I answer. Then I croak, “Holy fuck.”

She laughs. “So it was worth the five minute wait?”

“I’m staring at the most perfect pair of tits in the world, Dawn. It was absolutely worth the wait.” It’s clear she’s wearing no bra, and they hang heavy behind a button-down that’s a few shades away from sheer. If I stare hard—and I promise I am staringreally hard—I can almost see her nipples. “Fuck,” I breathe. “That’s not fair.”

“Unbutton your shirt.” Her command is soft, tentative.

I sit up a little straighter. “Happy to.” I look around. “Hang on, though—I need to figure out how to prop the phone up. Enjoy the view of my ceiling for a second.”

Her answering laugh hits me in the chest as I toss the phone and look around for something to use. After a few moments of consideration, I grab the stack of romance books on my nightstand, then sit back on the bed with my legs spread in a V.I put the books between them. “Close your eyes a sec,” I tell her, then position the phone so that my face isn’t on screen. “Okay, open.”

“Your shirt is still buttoned.”

I grin. “I know.” Then, thanking my lucky stars that I’ve read so many romance novels, I bring my hands on screen. I untuck the shirt first, then start with the button on top and unbutton slowly. “If I’d known a striptease was on the agenda for tonight, I’d have put an undershirt on,” I tease.

She’s quiet on the other end, but the view shifts just slightly, and I know she’s still there.

“More?” I ask once I have the top three buttons undone. It’s enough to where she can see a sliver of skin, but with the dim lighting in the room and the shadows of the fabric, she’s not getting much just yet.

This isfun.

“More.” Her voice is a whisper.

“Yes, ma’am.” I move my hands to the next button, then the next, and the next. “All done,” I say, but I make no move to do anything else.

She makes a noise of protest.

“Something wrong?” I ask, amused.

“Take it off,” she whines.

I let my hands hover over the edges of the shirt. “I bet you can do better than that.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out, her breasts rising and falling as she does. I lick my lips, nearly able to taste the silk of her skin. “Take your shirt off, James.” This time, her voice is authoritative.

“There we go.” I peel the shirt off, and I don’t miss the tiny moan she makes in response.

And I have never, so help me never, been more grateful for the time I spend wrangling farm animals and at the gym than I am right now. I decide to push more.

“Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you again?”

She shifts on her bed.

“How much I’d love to take one of those perfect breasts in my mouth?”

“Oh my God,” she breathes, squirming.

I unbutton my pants. Then I unzip them.

“James.” Her voice is wondrous.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

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