Chapter 17

I hand him a towel, staring at his damp thighs and strong legs.

He ignores my ogling, obviously used to men like me who are inevitably attracted to him. “Take your clothes off, and I’ll dry you off, Ricky. You’re as soaked as I am.”

I listen. Why not? What do I have to lose? Nothing. Nothing at all. I pull my wet T-shirt off and drop it over his. I slide off my tennis shoes and socks, adding them to our pile of wet clothes. I unbutton my khaki shorts, push them down to my ankles, and step out of them.

His stare drops to the wet outline of the cut dick in my white boxer-briefs, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he raises his gaze and begins to study my bare chest. “You look good. I like a man who takes care of himself.” He steps closer to me and begins to rub his towel against my firm chest, against my stomach, back up and over my chest. “Turn around,” he instructs. “I’ll dry off your back.”