Cole must’ve been molded by an artist because his body is nothing short of a work of art. The lines in his abdomen are thick and deeply cut—practically carved out of the muscle in his torso. His shoulders raise from his body in heavy peaks that make me whimper. And his sides? Kill me now. They form an inverted triangle and narrow to his trim waist, which looks as powerful as it does lean.

I haven’t fully absorbed the glory of his body when he removes his pants and boxer briefs.

I gulp.

His cock is rock hard. A bead of precum glistens at the head, and while I’ve never thought a penis was attractive, I’m into this one. Or, rather, hope this one is in me. Soon.

“I’ve never felt so ogled,” he says, laughing.

“You know, the baseball people aren’t doing a great marketing job.”

“Why is that?”

The sun shines in the window, highlighting him as if it agrees with me.

“Because if they want to up their viewership, all they have to do is show some of that.” I point at his naked body. “I’d tune in, and, being honest—I hate baseball.”

He moves toward me. His hands hit the bed, and he crawls toward me. I scramble backward and lie on my back as he gets closer.

“How can you tell me you hate baseball?” he asks, positioning himself between my legs and hovering over me.

My body is on fire. Blood pours to my groin. My clit pulses, begging for stimulation to end the throb that’s nearly painful.

His breath is hot against my skin. The skin-on-skin contact of our lower bodies frazzles my brain, and I can’t think of anything but him and how if I moved the right way, I could probably find some relief.

“I don’t know what you were saying,” I say, almost panting.

He snickers. “You hate baseball.”

“Yes,” I say, shifting my hips in a desperate attempt for contact. “I also hate talking.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

He pops up on his hands in some kind of push-up that raises his body off mine. Just when I think he’s going to roll off me, he lowers himself again.

His arms shake as he stays suspended inches above me and kisses me like he has all the time in the world.

I melt into the bed, draping my arms over his shoulders and lapping up the attention he bestows on me. He kisses me slowly, leisurely, nibbling at my bottom lip before pulling away.

He starts to get up, but I stop him with a palm to his chest. His brows furrow, unsure what I mean, but he stops moving all the same.

My heartbeat thundering in my ears, I take his hand. I hop off the bed and tug him to the edge.

“Palmer . . .”