Page 4 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

A strong clearing of a throat snaps me back to reality. I blink, focusing on the naked man standing in front of me. Not his face, though. Nope. My gaze is stuck lower. It’s steamy, but the outline? Unmistakable. And impressive.

The shadows from the steam room lights dance along his body, teasing details, but even in this haze, there’s no denying the size. Flaccid, but hefty . There’s really no other way to describe it.

The theme song to the Hefty plastic bag commercial chants through my mind: “Hefty! Hefty! Hefty!”

I snicker.

I bet it’s a real chore lugging that thing around all day.

My eyes trail upward, trying to catch a glimpse of his face but I can only see the outline of that too.

I hope he can’t see me well either, because my eyes keeping dropping back like a magnet to his lower half, completely ignoring the rest of him.

To be fair, it’s been a while since I’ve been around a naked man.

So what if I’m totally objectifying this stranger right now? Men do this to women all the time.

Oh, and I’m naked.

Holy shit, I need to leave. But…wow.

“Do you realize… you’re in the men’s steam room?” the guy’s voice is deep, silky, and mature. I decide right here that I’d like to record him reading one of my favorite romance novels as he talks me through something sexual.

You can take it.

Try to relax.

Just like that, baby girl.

You’re handling me so well.

Look at you looking like a goddamn masterpiece.

I don’t know how long it takes for me to respond to his question, my mind is off in the gutter, but eventually, it sinks in.

My eyes scan the room, but from this far back, engulfed in the steam, I can’t see a thing.

From what I remember, the front looked just like the women’s side I’d been in.

I’ve only been here once this summer, but I know they recently remodeled which is probably how I ended up in the men’s by mistake.

Now that I think about it, the sign was in French…

“Shit…” I whisper, realizing my mistake, “I’m sorry. I thought this was the women’s steam room. I also thought I was alone. In here.”

I can’t make out what face he’s making, or how he looks. I want to bat at the steam like a cat, clear it from the air so that I can get a better look at him, maybe let out a purr and a meow! but then I remember, I freaking sat on this guy’s dick!

“S-sorry about sitting on your penis. I obviously didn’t see you there.” I giggle nervously, though I’m not sure how I missed it with the size of that thing. “Is it okay?”

He stays quiet for a moment, then I hear a muffled sound, like a mix between a deep laugh and a concealed cough. Great, this guy either has no sense of humor, or he does, and he’s too uptight to let loose a laugh at this super awkward situation.

Maybe he’s part of that singles party I just left?

Could he be about to take someone home for a date?

Oh, fuck what I’d do for that someone to be me...

I shake my head, mentally smacking myself for diving right back into the gutter.

Already sat on his dick once tonight! Might as well slide it on in!

Bending down, I feel around the ground searching frantically for my towel. My fingers finally catch on to the scratchy cotton, and as I stand back up, I notice he’s moved a bit closer. Still maintaining a respectful distance, but it doesn’t stop my eyes from locking onto the outline of… well, that.

I mean, how could I not stare at this point?

He might be doing a great job of keeping it together right now, but my thoughts are anything but mature, especially with that third leg swinging around. It’s enormous .

Does he have a health condition that causes it to be this large?

Would it fit?

Is it broken and that’s why it’s so big?

Before I can stop myself, the last part slips from my lips out loud. I clamp a hand over my mouth, mortified.

He chuckles again, a deep, throaty sound that sends vibrations straight through my naked body, making it impossible not to feel it everywhere.

“No, it’s not broken. Think it’ll work just fine. And thank you for your concern. It’ll fit.”

My eyes widen as they shift upward then downward again.

I notice his hand has moved there now and it looks like he’s gripping himself at the base, holding it outright as if he’s intending on showing me that it still works and it’s not damaged.

It’s definitely not hard, but it’s certainly not flaccid anymore.

Even with his large hands wrapped around the shaft, the proportions seem off.

Hefty! Hefty! Hefty!!!

“Did it…” I swallow because I know it’s a ridiculous question, but word vomiting and making jokes is my go-to when I flirt and don’t know what else to say. I would have felt if it had, wouldn’t I have? Right? Right? “Did it go inside of me?” I stage whisper.

He laughs, hard this time, not holding back or trying to hide it. It’s a deep, baritone sound with the slightest bit of rasp.

I love it even more than I thought I could.

“Trust me, you’d know if it did. You wouldn’t be standing properly.”

Yeah, yeah, that makes sense.

Fuck that’s hot. Big dick confidence.

I wet my lips, still watching him gripping the base and wanting to replace my hand with his and squeeze. Just to indulge in the feel of it filling with blood. The expansion of the flesh as it inflames and blooms for me. Like my own, personal stress ball.

“Okay, well, sorry again. I’ll let the front desk know the lights are out back here so that they can send maintenance to fix it.

” I shift my body and try to look away from his dick.

He’s still staring at me, still naked, and when my gaze drops again, his hand is moving upward now into long, painfully slow strokes that I feel like I have to be imagining.

“No problem. Just… maybe next time check the door before you open it and feel around on the seat before you drop your towel. Would hate for you to sit down on the lap of someone who’s a part of that party out there.”

“You’re not with the singles mixer group?”

“No,” his voice is firm with no room for question.

Okay... judgmental.

The steam has cleared just enough for me to make out his facial features. Or maybe he’s moved closer, or maybe I have—either way, neither of us has made any attempts to leave and it feels like I’m being sucked inward. Or maybe he wants me to go but is too polite to say so.

With the fog lifting, I can finally see him better. Deep brown or black hair slicked back, likely from sweat. Lips soft and full, surrounded by a dark mustache and short beard. Matching deep brown eyes and a chiseled jawline lead down to a sharp, strong nose.

He’s wearing a smirk, the kind that’s both intimidating and captivating, full of confidence and knowing that reveals a small dimple in his right cheek.

I like it. One thing that throws off the otherwise perfect symmetry in this god-like guy.

Our eyes meet for the first time, and I instinctively straighten up, refusing to be the one to back down.

Maybe it’s the champagne from earlier, or my self-imposed summer of celibacy, but suddenly, all I can think about is how those lips would feel against mine. How it’d feel to touch tongues and fall apart underneath his strong body.

He’s close—so close I’d only have to reach up a little to kiss him. I can smell the scent of the whiskey he must have been consuming before he came in on his breath and I think of how that kiss would taste. Like a whiskey wet dream.

Just as I’m lost in that thought, the steam room door swings open, followed by a bewildered male voice. “What the fuck—?”

I freeze, realizing that some poor guy has just walked in on us, expecting a quiet sauna session, only to stumble upon two naked strangers huddled in the back staring at each other.

Did someone turn down the steam or something?

“Get the fuck out. Now,” the stranger in front of me commands without even glancing in the newcomer’s direction. Guess he isn’t into a ménage à trois.

Whoever it is gets the message and closes the door behind them as quickly as they came, leaving us alone once again.

“Let’s cover you up,” he says once the door shuts, reaching down for the towel I’m still clutching in my hand and stepping towards me.

He pauses for a second as if he’s hesitating and I wonder what he’s going to do.

My heart races, his smell suffocating me in pleasure and then as if snapping out of a trance, he wraps it gently around my shoulders, down over my hips and waist and tucking it securely in the front. “You should go.”

My brows furrow as I stare up at him.

I should go...?

It’s a bit dismissive, I mean sure, I am in the men’s steam room and he was just enjoying himself, probably with his eyes closed, maybe listening to the calming meditative music that they stream through the speakers in here, but how embarrassing for me that he’s just wrapped me up like a tiny towel burrito and is basically patting me on my head after lording his alien dick in front of me, and then telling me to leave.

I should say something witty. Or sassy. Or at least not embarrassing. Instead, I just… nod. A short, jerky nod because damn, that’s not what I was expecting, and then I spin on my heel and move straight out of the dim steam room back toward the locker room to get dressed.

Once outside the club, I find my abandoned bicycle, hop on, and start pedaling toward my cottage on the coast. As I ride, I throw my arms up into the air, letting the cool night breeze brush against my skin, a welcome relief after the steam room debacle.

The whole situation feels surreal, like something that happened to someone else.

I laugh again—this time harder—almost losing my balance on the bike.

Because if there’s one thing James enjoys more than his obsession with dating older women, it’s going to be hearing the story about the time I accidentally sat on a stranger’s cock in the steam room of the Hampton’s country club. ..