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Smart-ass.

Stripping had been a second nature to me for years. Something about not being the one to do it, but to watch instead, fueled me with excitement. I was curious to see the chiseled body beneath the fancy clothing.

Would he be smooth all over? Maybe a dusting of hair would cover his chest. There was a possibility that his put-together rich-boy persona was all an act, and he had some hidden tattoos painting his body as some sort of secret bad boy.

“Don’t think too hard, Hotshot. Just let me watch you take your clothes off. I want to see what I’m working with.” I spotted a brown leather chaise lounge chair in the corner of his room. Instead of sitting on the bed, I walked toward the chair, took a seat, and leaned back with my legs crossed in front of me.

This corner was made for watching.

“Let me see what you’re packing under all that Tom Ford.” I nodded, once again, giving him the go ahead.

There was something different about Hunter. At the bar, he’d been so confident to get me back to his place. His words oozed with sex. Now that I had him in front of me, asking him to be vulnerable, I saw a side of him that he wanted to show, but he wasn’t sure how to.

Hunter started with his shirt. Slowly, he unbuttoned one button at a time until he reached the last one. Shrugging each shoulder, he slipped his arms out, leaving him in a white cotton undershirt and black trousers.

The soft, timid look on his face started to fade when his dress shirt fell to the floor. Almost as if he was turning on his confidence more and more as he began to strip.

Next up was his T-shirt. When he reached behind his back, his bicep flexed, the definition on his body already clear as day, and he wasn’t even naked yet. With one swift tug over his head, his strong tanned chest and delectable abs pulled me in.

To my surprise, there wasn’t any hair or tattoos. He was just as clean as he appeared to be on the outside. His skin looked soft and smooth with nothing in the way of showing off every defined muscle.

“Mm, that’s a good boy, Hunter. What’s next?”

Without the barrier of his shirt, I had a close-up look at his chest and how it filled with air, only to fall each time a praise slipped off my tongue.

“You tell me, Andi. You’re in charge.”

Those words went straight to the sweet spot between my legs.

“Shoes.” I looked down at the sharp leather dress shoes. “Can’t take off your pants if those are still on.” My teeth poked out, tugging on my lip as my eyes wandered over his body, starting at his feet, all the way up to his effortlessly messy blond strands.

He continued to follow my orders, slipping one shoe off at a time, followed by this belt.

With his fingers pinched against the button on his slacks, the boyish charm returned. There was something so incredibly hot about a man—one older than me—being so shy as he took off his clothes in front of me.

“Take off your pants, then come on over here and give me the honor of slipping off your briefs.”

It took some work for his pants to drop down his legs; his incredibly strong quads were to blame for the trouble.

“Jesus, Hunter, your thighs.” I curled my finger, encouraging him to come closer.

As he stood in front of me, he gripped his covered cock, and I could swear he was doing his best attempt to control himself. He’d already marked his dark gray briefs with a drip of precum, and seeing him so turned on already only spurred me on more.

“I know you own the Neon, but these thighs tell a different story.” I ran my thumbs under the elastic of the cotton.

His breath hitched at my touch.

“I played for the Neon before I owned them. Only for four years, it was a long time ago.”

“We can circle back to that another time.” My words slipped out before I could think.

There wasn’t supposed to be another time.

“Move your hands, Hunter. I can’t see what’s waiting for me.” I recovered from my word vomit by jumping right into why the hell I was here in the first place. To fuck this gorgeous man and leave feeling relieved.

Hunter moved his hands, hanging them at his sides as if he was unsure what to do with them.

Fuck. Just looking at the size of him through the tight fabric had me ready to go.