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John was tall, looming over me at 5’6”, and burly as a bear. But above all, the hefty package in his snug boxer-briefs made my eyes widen. I’d caught fleeting glances of him undressed in the hallway before, but never clearly enough to find myself dreaming of him bending me over the island counter. John glanced back toward the bedroom, thinking for a moment before he shrugged, “Why not?” “It’s nearly midnight,” I remarked, picking up a half-empty bottle from the coffee table. We met halfway between the living room and the kitchen, and my heart thumped faster in my chest with every step. He was a raw man, not unkind but quite unrefined, of the sort I rarely met in Manhattan. I felt small and soft, emasculated standing closer before him as he accepted a healthy pour with a mischievous grin. “You’re a bad influence,” he chuckled, patting my shoulder. His palm was warm and meaty, and I thought of how it’d feel cupping my ass. “You have no idea,” I countered, boldly reaching to run my fingers through the fur on his chest down to his belly. His eyes widened a bit and it was his turn to blush.
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John relaxed when I drew back, tipping a mouthful of champagne between his lips, a few drops clinging to the thick fur on his bottom lip. We stood a bit awkwardly until he moved to stand behind the couch and I came up close beside him. It felt good to smell a man, to feel the warmth radiating off his powerful body. It was nice not to be alone.įifteen seconds til midnight. He fixed his gaze on the TV, standing stiffly.