Playing with the Enemy
Head still back, he stretched, long arms held away from his body, a deep groan escaping his lips.
My eyes drank him in, from his wide chest and flat belly, to the narrow cut of his waist, the subtle rise at his center, down to his straight legs. I stilled my racing heart.
He faced me. “Let’s do it!” he shot back.
I turned, raising my hands above my head, stretching. My racket hung down my back, as I kicked my legs out, pretending shake out my muscles, while letting something else loosen as well.
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