He growled again and motioned vehemently to my pants. From his gestures I could guesstimate I was to remove my trousers, toot suite, or they were going to be torn from my body. I sat up and undid the buttons and realized I’d forgotten one crucial piece to my preparations. I was wearing my Spanx, the woman’s underwear equivalent to the Hoover Dam. I should’ve removed them before, that way the rolls would’ve settled naturally and the impression marks from the seams might’ve faded somewhat.
If he removed them now my imperfections would erupt from the confines of my undies like a tsunami of my pasty white skin.
And that was not flattering or sexy in the least.
“Fuck,” I cursed. I leaned over to protect my secret and headbutted Wulfe, hard, in the junk.
He howled like a rabid wolf, doubling over to cup his balls before dropping onto the bed beside me. On reflex I stood up and my pants dropped to the floor, but I didn’t care. I was more concerned about Wulfe and his crossed eyes.
“Oh. My. God. Are you okay?”
He made an A-okay sign with his hand and relaxed, moving his other hand from his balls. By some sort of merciful miracle his erection was still as strong as ever. Not many men could take a blow like that and still be hard as rock when it was over.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Another appreciative growl escaped past his lips as his gaze roved over my body. He frowned in dismay at the sight of my Spanx. With a roar he moved like lightning, dragged me to the bed and tore the expensive miracle undies off my body, tossing them aside.
Well, there was fifty bucks I was never going to see again.