Goode Vibrations by Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jasinda Wilder [Wilder, Jasinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jasinda Wilder

Poppy

I didn’t want to get dressed. I wanted to stay naked, catch him fresh out of the shower, dripping wet and steaming.

I found excuse after excuse to not get dressed, to stay wrapped in my towel, even when the air conditioner’s icy blast made me shiver.

Eventually, the water shut off—and by eventually, I mean half the time I was in the shower, and probably because I’d already used most of the hot water. He tossed the curtain aside and stepped out. He had forgotten or not bothered to bring a towel closer than from the rack over the toilet, and with the layout of the bathroom, that meant he had to either get one from inside the other end of the tub, or get out and reach over the toilet—which is what he did.

Naked, water sluicing off of him.

At the sight of a naked Errol, my nipples tightened, hardened to points, aching with intense and immediate need, and my center pulsed with damp arousal. He was a god. Every inch of him was lean and hard and corded with ropy muscle. He wasn’t…how should I put it? Neither Instagram fitness model shredded nor Mr. Olympia bulky. He was a whole different kind of fit—he was lean and hard from a life lived doing hard things. His arms would stretch a T-shirt sleeve, and his abs were cheese-grater defined, his hips angular, his chest flat and hard. His thighs spoke of an ability to hike miles on end carrying all his gear. His hair, wet and flat, hung to just past his shoulders—it would curl up and shrink as it dried into wavy locks just shorter than shoulder length.

He grabbed a towel, let it drop from his hands to open it up, patted his face dry, his beard, and then dragged it over his head, grabbing the ends to shimmy it over his back, his buttocks—and holy moly, that ass was tight, so hard, so round, I just wanted to bite into it like a fucking apple. He whipped the towel around front, scrubbed off his abs and palmed his junk with it. And the way he handled his manhood was with rough familiarity, obviously, but I felt he should have been more reverent with such beauty. It was so gorgeous, his cock. It needed to be carved out of marble and displayed as the paragon of male glory—this is what a real man is hung with. Just my opinion, obviously, and no man is less of a man because of what he may or may not be packing between his legs. I’ve had as much fun with a small dick as a big one, but…it is true that size matters. It’s just a matter of subjective opinion, woman to woman, what that perfect size is.

Errol was perfect, for me.

So perfect. I wanted to hold it in my hands, pet it. Kiss it. He had such a pretty penis that I just wanted to snuggle it. Even slack, it was beautiful, which was quite a marvelous trick, since most limp dicks were nothing short of comical.

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