Page 38 of Zeppelin
Zeppelin walks straight into the kitchen like I’m not even there. He opens the freezer side of the large stainless steel double door fridge and takes out a tub of vanilla. Not like a gallon or anything, but it’s not that small either.
The other guys notice. They’re clearly used to giving Zep a hard time, but he and Jack rose to the occasion every time. The club knows them as mouthy, loud, life and soul of the party assholes.
“What are you gonna do in your room with a whole tub of ice cream?” The guy who looks the youngest asks, wiggling dark eyebrows. He’s wearing a dirty ballcap, which he takes off to take a hand through sweaty hair. He must have been outside. He’s deeply tanned and looks hot, even though the building is air conditioned.
“Pegging,” Zep deadpans, but it doesn’t sound deadpan. I only know it is because I’ve spent so much time with him lately.
“How big do you think your asshole is?” the guy asks, laughing loudly in response. That’s an entire container there. Or did you mean with the spoon?”
“I’m always willing to test my limits.” Zep gets two spoons out of the drawer, and motions for me to follow him.
I’m glad to retreat, my face burning at the good-natured laughter behind us.
I’m so embarrassed that I’m not even sure I still want to do this.
My doubts last for all of three minutes, until we’re standing in front of a heavy door that Zeppelin punches the code into. He swings the door open. I’ve tried to imagine what his room would look like, but I’m unprepared for the granny style of it.
He hasantiquesin here. Not just the wooden bed with the carved headboard and footboard, but the two matching dressers on the far wall as well. Even the chair in the corner is floral, with a granny square knit blanket draped over it. The large TV mounted on the wall is pretty much the only thing that screams mancave. That, and maybe the vintage oil and gas signs on the wall.
There’s a thick book on the nightstand. I forget all about my questions about the furniture when I note that it’s aDickenscollection. Has he been reading it? We started, but obviously we never got to finish anything in a day.
I go warm all the way through.
Zeppelin crosses the room to a mesh trashcan and tosses the ice cream into it.
“What are you doing?” I splutter. “You can’t waste good food like that!”
“I know. Normally, I’d be all about not doing it, but honestly, I’d rather be devouring your pussy than any ice cream in the world. If it’s still good after, I’ll reassess then.”
Oh my god.
“Shower.” He’s already moving towards the adjoining small bathroom.
My duffel bag slides off my shoulder. I unzip it and get my cosmetic bag out. Am I really going to do this?
Yes. Yes I am. And I’m going to enjoy every single second of it.
I picked out the yellow and white floral dress I’m wearing with more care than I’d like to admit. I tried on far, far too many before I settled on it.
This isn’t a traditionally sexy outfit, but I feel good in it. I feelpretty.
More than pretty. I feel womanly. Sexy.
As soon as I hear the shower start, my panties grow damp and the dull ache that’s been haunting me ever since the last time we did this turns into a blinding roar.
Zeppelin returns from the bathroom and takes one look at me then says, “Still dressed?” Not waiting for my answer, he strips his shirt over his head in one swift move the way guys always seem to do, as if it’s half magical skill and half practiced talent.
Holy. Shit.
I’d wondered about tattoos. Apparently, he’s the kind of person that justgoes for itin a big way. There’s a massive eagle flying across his pecs, wings spread wide, talons curled beneath. It spans the entire massive length and edges down, talons kissing the top of his chiseled abs. He doesn’t have anything anywhere else that I can see, so maybe it wasn’t his first, but mygod, what a gorgeous piece. It’s in cold colors, too. That must have seriouslystung.
His body is a work of art all the way from his powerful shoulders down to his trim, muscular waist. He could honestly dress up and be on one of those sexy calendars. He’s big enough to be brutish, strong enough that he could probably sweep my whole body up with just one hand and hold me over his head, but also gentle enough that I know he’d never hurt me. Even if I wasn’t pregnant, he’d take care. I’m not fragile. I’m not weak. But I do feel small and delicate in the face of his raw masculinity.
He doesn’t shed his jeans immediately. He makes a show of undoing his fly nice and slow and taking twenty million years to open the button. He keeps his eyes on me the entire time, even while he pushes them down. I’m too busy enjoying the strip show to say a word.
Finally he’s standing there mostly naked except for his boxers. The way the thin fabric is tenting at the front doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
I creep towards the bathroom my cosmetic bag held in front of me like a weapon. Zeppelin’s left his boxers on, and I can’t keep my eyes off his body. His legs are thick and muscular everywhere, his chest and arms heavily muscled and powerful. It’s no wonder that he can handle such a big bike with such grace and ease. I wonder what it would feel like to have all that power straddled between his thighs.
