Sitting upright, I hold the sheet to my chest, watching in delight as he steps into a pair of faded blue jeans. Soft tufts of dark hair paint his navel and lead all the way down to an impressive V. He leaves the top button undone as he hunts for a t-shirt. His washboard abs ripple and roll. Oh my f*****g god have mercy on my pink bits.
When he slips into a fitted white tee, he notices me staring and smirks. I need to stop because he’s cocky enough. “Who’s at the door?”
Running his fingers through his hair, he ties it low. “My mom,” he replies casually, while I almost fall out of bed.
“What? Your mom is out there?” I point to the door, in case I had a lapse in hearing. He nods, while I pale. “Hunter, you were getting me off while on the phone to your mother?”
“Yeah, I told her my hands
