Where is his?
I tiptoe to the dresser. Pause. I cut a glance back to the door as if I’m about to get caught, but nothing’s there. After a minute, I continue. I open one drawer and roll my eyes.
Socks.
All mismatched.
“Of course,” I mumble.
I close that drawer and open the next.
Oh. Underwear.
Sexy underwear. None of that saggy Fruit of the Loom shit, but Grade-A nut hugging undies. I hold one up, and it feels like spandex. It has to be some type of stretchy material. Damn, I bet he looks so good in these as they cling to every curve.
Imagining them stretched over his tree trunk thighs, suctioning over his cock, and pulled taut over his plump ass like a second skin.
“God bless the woman who made this man,” I say silently to God, or whoever’s idea it was to make such a fine specimen.
I keep the drawer open because I’m nowhere near done with it. I want to see what else he has in the goody forbidden drawer. “I’ll be back,” I whisper to the sexy spandex briefs. “I’ll miss you.”
My knees pop as I squat to open the last drawer, and what I find surprises me.
It’s empty.
I tap my hand around the drawer, and the back end pops. I freeze. Oh, shit. I’m about to find something I’m not supposed to see. That was the point. This was what I wanted. I take a deep breath. Here it is. Here is Bullseye’s history that he keeps hidden away. Part of me feels terrible for just snooping around like this, but he left me in here, so…
With a slow, careful hand, I take out the board, ready for whatever surprises might be waiting for me. My imagination runs wild—maybe it’s photos of him and his lovers. Maybe it’s a secret stash of mementos. Maybe it’s… oh.
It’s nothing.
Just a bunch of cash and darts. That’s disappointing. I frown and dig around, even more, trying to find a dirty secret, but that’s all I see. Just stacks of cash and some of his darts. Nothing that tells me about Bullseye’s history. I’m coming up empty-handed.
“What are you doing?”
I scream, then hold my hand to my chest when I hear Bullseye’s voice. I look up to see him standing in the doorway, arms crossed and staring at me. “Uh, I’m snooping,” I answer honestly.
His eyes drop to my chest, and that’s when I remember I’m still holding a pair of sexy undies. I’m holding them close since he scared me.
“Need some underwear, Spitfire?” he tsks, walking into the room and shutting the door. “Cash? Both?”
“No.” I toss the underwear in the drawer they belong in and close it, then close the secret cash drawer. “I wanted to find something personal, I guess.”
“Disappointed that you didn’t?” He takes a seat on the bed, and the springs groan from his weight.
“A little bit.” I take the spot next to him and evaluate his face. His eyes are red, as if he’s been crying. A few things start to click together. He doesn’t have anything personal in his room because everything he deems personal, he keeps close to his heart.
So if I want him, if I want to get to know him, I have to earn him.
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