Page 31 of Mr. Picture Perfect
“Mmm, yeah, yeah … that’s doing the trick,” he groans.
What trick, exactly?
Am I working out his charley horse or getting him off?
Both?
“Just tell me if I’m pressing too hard,” I state in a level voice, determined to stay focused on the task.
You know, the task with my hands up Cole Harding’s shorts.
Kneading his muscled upper thigh like dough.
Pretending I’m also not partially massaging his balls by proxy.
If I knew this was going to be part of the interview…
“You are doing itperfectly,” he says in an erotic moan I’m not sure he intends, head rocked back, jaw slack, lips hanging open.
“Okay,” I flimsily mutter back, continuing to massage.
My eyes wander to the crotch of his shorts, where I watch the bump of my hands underneath them gyrating around. I had sorely underestimated how close they are to his cock. A passerby could easily mistake the bump in the fabric as merely an extension of the already generous gift God gave him in the genital department.
Yes, I said it. Cole has been gifted.
“Mmm, I hate getting these …” groans Cole from above. “They are theworst…”
When did my heart start racing? It’s galloping like I just ran a mile. It can’t be healthy for my heart to race this much for such an extended period of time.
I’m not used to sexually-charged cardio exercises like this.
Come to think of it, I’m not used to the normal ones, either.
“Just relax,” I urge him in as soothing a voice as I can muster. This doesn’t come naturally to me. “Keep your mind off the pain.”
I’m not sure that’s a very fair request.
Telling him to keep his mind off of his cramping thigh.
With a pair of hands up his shorts.
“I’ve got this wicked one in my lower back I get sometimes,” he starts telling me. “And now and then one in my left calf. Don’t know why, but they just wake up with a vengeance whenever they want to, usually after I come home from a workout. Like I did this morning. Did I mention that? I did a workout this morning. Got up super early. Had to focus my brain. You ever go to the gym?”
“Um, no.”
“We should go sometime! Since I work there, I can get you in. It’s a fun way to relieve stress, even if you’re not there to get all buff and stupid-ripped. No one needs to be stupid-ripped. Y’know how many benefits you gain mentally just from a little walking around? All the healthy chemistry it does to you? Miraculous.”
My eyes drift to his crotch again.
I mean, it’s right there. Right there in my face.
Next to my moving hands, too.
Which keep brushing against it.
And I’m not entirely certain whether I’m meaning to.
Surely Cole is as electrically aware of what’s happening. After all, it’s his royal jewels my hands keep thieving subtle touches of. How is he not reacting? Why is he talking about working out?
