Page 19 of Big Britches
After washing and toweling himself dry, Titus was surprised to find he was still bearing more weight than usual down below.
“You need to calm down.” At this point, he could have been addressing himself or his dick.
He put on some loose shorts and a t-shirt, then combed his hair. When he stepped into the closet seeking his sandals, he became consciously aware again of the sound of the mower and its whereabouts outside.
He’s on the move.
Titus crossed back to the window with the sheers and looked out. The front and side yard were complete.
He’s in the backyard now.
Titus ran out of the bedroom, practically skipping down the stairs.
He crossed the study into the den and to a rear window. The curtains were open and—this time—he stayed far enough back that he didn’t think he could be seen observing.
You’re a stalker.
“It’s not stalking. I haven’t even left my house,” he whispered.
He could hear Roz in the kitchen and the sounds of her unloading the dishwasher.
You’re following him from window to window, dude. It’s desperate… and a little creepy.
“I can’t help it. I… want him.”
What if he doesn’t want you?
Titus thought about that. He didn’t have an answer.
Outside the window, roughly twenty feet away, Pedro stopped mowing and cut the engine off. He stood, circling the lawn tractor back to the container for clippings. He unfolded a disposable refuse bag and emptied the receptacle into it, setting it on a section of the grass already mowed. He replaced the container, but before he climbed back on the mower, he reached for his water bottle in the cup holder, lifting it high and draining it.
Titus watched all of this as if riveted to the latest episode of ER. There was something about Pedro’s neck that was so incredibly sexy, the way it stretched taut, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow.
“Damn.”
Pedro opened a small cooler compartment on the mower and dropped the empty in. He paused before returning to his work, shielding his eyes and looking toward the glaring sun. When he lowered his head, he ran his fingers through his hair, combing all the way to the back of his neck where they lingered, massaging. His gaze went to the pool.
“Yeah. That’s right. It’s hot. Go ahead and take a dip. Cool off.”
Pedro’s hand lowered and crept up under his t-shirt, rubbing his chest and exposing his navel, giving Titus a good glimpse of his smooth belly and the light treasure trail there.
“Yes, sir, it’s hot. So, hot. You should probably take that shirt off.”
As if he heard, Pedro’s hand slipped from beneath the fabric. He gripped the hem of his t-shirt with both hands and reverse-peeled it off in one swift movement.
Titus felt woozy. He was standing a good five feet from the glass, everything perfectly framed.
Pedro used the shirt to wipe his chest and mop his armpits. He then shook the bunched fabric out and tucked it into the back of his jeans, where it hung like a foxtail. Titus could see his muscles better now, not cut at all—just as natural and beautiful as a hot summer day. His chest was lightly dusted with dark swirls surrounding two small rose-colored nipples. So perfect.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Pedro removed a fresh bottle of water from the cooler and pressed it to his forehead, giving Titus an exquisite view of his armpit. He then held the bottle to the back of his neck with both hands, exposing both pits.
Titus unconsciously took two steps toward the window. He was hard as a rock again, his dick leading the way.
Pedro opened the water bottle. He lifted it to his chest, circling his pecs and nipples. His other hand crept down his belly, hooking on the waistband of his pants and, for a moment, Titus was convinced that Pedro was going to empty the bottle there. Instead, he raised it high and poured it on his face and head, allowing its cool contents to cascade down all over him.
“DON’T FORGET ABOUT THE REFRIGERATOR!” Roz called from the kitchen.