The following excerpt has explicit sexual language. If you`re offended by. . .blah, blah, blah and yadda-yadda.
“Hello,” I replied, masking the rush of desire that flared up upon hearing his voice. Deep, yet not too deep. I judged him to be perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two. That would give me about eight years on him. I smiled around my straw at the way those blue eyes of his roamed with wanton approval over my curves. I tugged my change purse out of my front pocket, and then accidentally-on-purpose dropped it. Turning so that he could see the show, I bent over to fetch my quarters. When I straightened, beaded coin purse in hand, he was staring at me, his mouth open slightly, his hands gripping his duffel. Not a sock was being shaken out now.
The corners of my mouth curled into a smile before I sat down. He shook off the spell he had fallen into. I sipped my iced coffee, immensely happy to know that this man was not averse to a woman with a little meat on her bones. Being a pastry chef meant tasting my creations. A few pounds had settled on me since I had graduated from culinary school. Some men disliked my curves, and some men embraced them. It was not an issue for me to be a plus-sized woman. My sleep was not interrupted by bouts of angst or agony about the width of my backside, rest assured.
It took him a moment to regain his thought process. I crossed one leg over the other, placed my coin purse on my lap, then sucked slowly on my well-gnawed straw. He was engrossed in his laundry now, tugging large handfuls of clothes out of his bag, and cramming them into the washer. I had to say something.
“You really should separate the colors from the whites.”
“Nothing is new enough to bleed, but thanks.”
He kept shoving more dirty laundry into the machine.
“If you overload, your clothes won’t get clean,” I told him, my straw resting on my lips as I spoke. His lapis-colored eyes moved from the washer to me. A strong urge to unbutton my blouse and offer him my breasts overtook me.
“I only have enough coins for one load,” he replied. I liked the cadence of his speech. It was slow, precise, educated, as if he had taught himself to enunciate clearly. A man that spoke well was a huge turn-on. Is there anything worse than a hot guy who is trying too hard to be street? Seriously guys, if you want to impress a woman, be literate. Save the smack talk B.S. gangsta lingo for the locker room. “Maybe we could share a washer?”
“You think I want your boxers all over my panties?”
“I don’t wear underwear.”
I nearly choked on my calm, cool, and collected.
“You okay?” he asked, a slight twitch of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“Fine,” I said as I took another sip to smooth the moment. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
“Isn’t that a funny saying? I mean, we only have one pipe so how can something…”
I stopped listening to him. My mind couldn’t focus on words at the same time it was conjuring up a mental image of me slipping my hand into his pants to check if he was lying about no boxers.
“So do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Have a couple of spare quarters? Since you won’t let my man things gyrate around in the water with your woman things.”
Was he saying those kinds of things on purpose? Of course he was, if the puckish grin he now wore was any indicator. Oh, I did like this man. A lot.
“Honey, I’m not sure that your man things are man enough to gyrate with my woman things,” I parried. He chortled then leaned a hip into the washer, his arms folding over his bare chest.
“I’m pretty sure that they are.” He said it with utmost confidence in the prowess of his man things. I sucked down a large gulp, the twinge behind my eye reminding me to slow down. I sipped and enjoyed looking at him, spying a small, silver navel ring glistening from the neon lights overhead. My mouth was dry even though I had just swallowed some of my drink. His steady gaze made me fidget. My nipples grew hard, the tender nubs rubbing inside the cup of my last clean bra. The crotch of my panties became coarse against my bare skin. This man made my skin itch all over.
“Rather sure of your man things, aren’t you?” I finally said, as I tossed my change purse to him. He caught it with one hand, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Rather,” he commented offhandedly, opened the tiny bag then extracted four quarters.
Tumble Dry will be available at the Secret Cravings Store, Amazon, B & N, All Romance eBooks and Smashwords on 11/29/14. You can preorder your copy today at: