Down and Out(41)

That ass.
Closing the bathroom door, I unfold the clothes and take a good look at what he’s brought me, fuming all over again. It’s nothing more than a tiny, spaghetti-strapped tank top and some small boy shorts I use for sleep. “C’mon, man,” I groan/yell.
“What?” he calls out from his room. “You asked for clothes and I brought you clothes.”
“Barely,” I mutter, though it’s too quiet for him to hear.
After I dry myself off, I wrap my wet hair up in the towel and grab the dirty clothes off the floor. I’m about to shove my legs back into my shorts, just to have something on while I run out there and grab some real clothes, when I get a better idea. I eye the tank top and barely-there shorts lying on the counter as a wicked grin curls my lips.
I’m going to beat Declan at his own game.






“You eat yet?”
Holy shit.
Savannah struts into my room wearing the clothes I picked out. I think she’s drying her hair with a towel, but I really don’t know. She could be braiding it or shaving it off for all I know, because all I can focus on are the way her microscopic shorts don’t quite cover her ass and the small, but very noticeable swells of her braless tits under her thin tank top.
My mouth suddenly desiccates and I try to swallow. Or try to swallow my tongue. Again, I can’t really be sure, not when the greatest thing to ever happen in the history of the world is taking place right before me.
“Something wrong?”
I hear rather than see her smirk, because I can’t tear my eyes away from the glorious sight of her little nipples hardening in the air-conditioned room. That shirt’s like a second skin and leaves veeerrryyy little to the imagination. The only thing I can’t quite tell is what exact shade of pink her nipples are.
Are they more of a peach, or a rose?
My concentration’s broken when she throws her damp towel in my face. I yank it away, watching her perfect, round ass sway as she walks out the door and says over her shoulder, “Close your mouth, Declan, you look like a trout.”
She’s such a tease. I love it.
I scramble out of bed, still clutching her towel, and ignore the flare of pain blossoming through my body as I follow her out into the hallway. Trailing behind her, I have enough sense to tuck my erection under the waistband of my pajama pants, and I have to stifle a groan at the fruity, strawberry scent she leaves in her wake. I lift her towel to my nose and inhale, my eyes practically rolling back in my head as my olfactory system ODs on pure, unadulterated Savannah.
She stops in the kitchen and I jerk it away before she can see. Something tells me she wouldn’t take too kindly to me smelling her towel. . .
“Have you eaten?” she asks, grabbing a hamburger bun from the package on the counter. She proceeds to make a sandwich with the roast, all nonchalantly and innocently, and I don’t buy it, not for a second.
Leaning against the counter, I grip the towel in my hand to keep from running my fingers over the slope of her hip or across the taut patch of stomach peeking out from her joke of a top. “What do you think you’re doing?” My voice is lower, hoarser, as I watch her.
Christ Almighty, I never thought she’d actually wear this. I thought she’d dart out here with that towel wrapped around her while she picked out her own clothes. I mean, yeah, I was expecting a view, but not this kind of view. This girl’s fearless and cocky as hell.
Huh. I never thought I’d be into a chick with balls, let alone one that’s got a pair this big. They rival the size of mine, easily.
She cocks her head to the side, a subtle tilt to the corners of her mouth as she says, “What are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
“I promise you, I don’t.” She lifts the sandwich to her mouth, taking a slow bite. “Mmm. . .” Her eyes close as she groans and chews, making my dick twitch in its trapped space. She swallows and says, “It’s so good.”
So is blood flow to my brain, Kitten.
“Okay, you win. Put some clothes on.”
She frowns and sets her sandwich down on a paper towel. “But I have clothes on.” She brings her hand up to her mouth, her pink lips wrapping around her thumb as she sucks off errant juice from the roast. Her eyes never leave mine, not for a single second.
My grip tightens on her towel as I pull in a shaky breath. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not fair. I can’t think when all the blood’s rushing to my dick, so please, for the love of God, put some f*cking clothes on.”
Her teeth bite down on her plump lip as she saunters toward me. “Say it again,” she murmurs, boxing me into the corner of the countertop.
My breath all but dissipates as she grazes her fingers up my arms. “Say what again?” I’ll say any-f*cking-thing she wants at this point, so long as she doesn’t stop touching me.
She leans forward, pressing her breasts to my chest as she reaches up and runs her fingers through my hair. I instinctively lean down as she cradles the nape of my neck in her hand, my cock pulsing with every closed inch until her lips brush mine and she whispers, “Say you win.”
I swallow and try to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “My restraint’s hangin’ by a thread here, Kitten. I’d stop tempting me if I were you.” Hell, I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long. I should get a medal for this.
“I’ll stop when you say it,” she says, giving me a bemused smile.
The hell with it. If she’s gonna throw down the gauntlet like this, then I have to pick it up. Them’s the rules.