His gaze lands on his dog and then on my dripping, half-hard cock. He nods slowly, too choked on his words to speak. Based on how he keeps staring at my naked form, I’m starting to wonder if it’s no longer his dog he came here to collect.
His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, causing his plump, pink mouth to glisten in the sun. He repeats the action, almost as if wishing he was doing it to something else.
“Are you going to grab him then?”
“Yeah . . . uh . . . huh?” His attention shifts to my face, eyes bulging so far out of his head I think they’re going to fall out.
“Your dog.” I nudge my head toward the wet animal running between us. “Aren’t you going to take him back home with you?”
“Oh. Yes, of course,” he says, his words sounding strangled. “Sorry.”
“You wouldn’t have to say that word so much if you didn’t have anything to apologize for.”
Swallowing hard, he pulls a leash from his back pocket and leans forward to hook one end to his dog. The top of his shirt falls open enough for me to get a glimpse of his pierced nipples, and my cock stiffens, twitching between my legs. I itch to reach inside and tug at the hard nubs, to see how loud I can make him scream while causing him to come at the same time.
“I really don’t know what’s happening today. It’s like all the animals are against me.”
“Maybe you’re against yourself by allowing so much to slip right by.”
“Maybe.” His gaze lands back on my cock and his face flushes.
“Is that all then? Or were you needing something else.” Pushing out my hips, I run my thumb over the top of my crown, forming my lips into a smirk.
Taking a step back, he wipes his palm on his jeans while tightening the leash around the other. “No. We’ll get out of your way. Didn’t mean to interrupt your pond bath.”
“I was coming out here for a swim during a much-needed work break.” I turn around, putting the front of my naked body on full display for his eyes to examine. No doubt he’s noticed the scars. Everyone who’s seen me naked usually does, always asking me where I got them. The lies I tell are different each time.
“What line of work would that be?”
Cocking my head, my jaw twitches. “Didn’t I warn you about keeping personal information limited?”
“You said that in regards to me telling you my name,” he retorts.
“Also hinting at not asking me anything you don’t need to know, and this would qualify,” I respond, more harshly than intended. It's normally easy to lie about my name and what I do but something about the action feels wrong today. It’s stupid and makes no fucking sense. I do it so often it’s become as natural as breathing, and yet here I am ripping at the seams every time I consider it.
“Are you a porn star or something?”
Laughing, I rest a hand over my shaking stomach. “Not even close.”
“A secret spy perhaps?” He squints his eyes as if he’s searching for more answers in mine.
It won’t gain him anything. My eyes are good at hiding shit from me too. My reflection hasn’t been honest in a long time, so I doubt any body language I give off will tell him anything either. In order to take down monsters and manipulators, you have to become those things yourself—at least, I do every time I leave my house. No one can ever see the small amount of humanity I hold onto inside myself. Too much kindness shown makes you appear weak, and you never know who’s watching.
Yet I can’t stop helping this man. Maybe because he’s the complete opposite of threatening and no one’s out here but us. He reminds me of one of his sheep—fragile, easily startled, and helpless. I have the sudden urge to pick him up and carry him back home, the way we did the piglets. Would he struggle in my arms the same way, or would he cling to me like a needy kitten?
Instead of entertaining the idea the way my arms are begging me to, I shake off the feeling as best I can by wiping the water off my body. “I wouldn’t tell you if I was, would I?”
“Good point.” Looking pensive, he taps his chin. “A furniture maker? A retired billionaire who recently sold his business in order to live out a quieter life?”
Puffing out a breath of air, I shake my head. “You read a lot of romance books, don’t you?”
“No,” he responds too quickly, fidgeting with the bottom of his shirt. “They’re only random guesses. It’s just what I would do if I were a billionaire.”
“What’s your reasoning now?”
“Didn’t you say not to ask too many personal questions?” He shoots me a cocky grin.
“Ah, you’re finally learning. Look, as much as I’d like to stand here and converse about billionaires, woodworkers, and whatever else you fantasize about while alone in your room, you’re causing me to miss lunch time.”