He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?"
"Jericho"
"Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight.
My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck?
