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Most of my time is taken up maintaining my homestead.
Chickens, a small farm.
It keeps me busy.
And I bake.
Immediately I regret sending such an honest, and incredibly lame, reply.
“No wonder I’m fucking single,” I mutter under my breath, a small icy breeze whipping past me, like the Woods agrees. Hottest man on the planet, fae or human, and I talk about fucking baking.
Stop!
A hot and hairy lumberjack who frolics in the forest and bakes?
I think I’m in love.
I bet you are really handy too? I bet you use those big, strong capable hands to do all kinds of manly things.
Are you mocking me? I feel like you are mocking me…
Absolutely not. I have a *big* capability kink. Nothing hotter than a big, strong man with *capable* hands. Especially when he knows how to use them.
I try not to feel too cocky, but I can feel my chest puffing out a little, preening from the blatant flirting. If nothing else, this guy is good for the ego. Not like anyone else is lining up to appreciate my capable hands.
There is another pulse again, low in my stomach as my imagination teases me with vivid images of me using those same capable hands onGlitterballz. Running my hands over him. Gripping his hips, holding him in place. Tangling in those silver-white curls as he… aaand it is time to head home. I hop off my rock and continue the path, one eye on my phone, the other on the root-filled path.
Well, I’ve certainly never had any complaints.
But that is more than enough about me.
What do you do with yourself?
How are you only going to bed at this time in the morning?
Weeell… I work at a bar.
Specifically, a fae bar in the city. Usually I just bartend but sometimes I dance too.
Last night after close the crew had a few drinks. Which led to more drinks.
Which led to 5 am kebabs…
And now here we are.
You dance?… Well colour me curious.
Down, boy. Clothes on only.
Well there goes all my plans for a tripto the city.
Too distracted by the images churning in my mind ofGlitterballz’slithe body writhing, skin shimmering under the club lights, I trip over a tree root that manages to come out of nowhere, causing me to stumble and almost drop my phone. Again.
Well now, that is a shame. Maybe one day I could put on a private show.
Know what’s not helpful when hiking home in tight jeans with a wet patch on your ass lugging a hunting kit? A fucking boner. I am not even subtle as I try to shift things around to ease the aching pressure of my zipper on my dick.
Desperate to get home to alleviate some of this tension, the swirling in my guts and pounding in my blood. I quicken my pace, and as the trees thin and I reach the edge of the Woods where they border my property, another message comes through.
