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he walked in on me fixing a cup of coffee dressed only in my bra and panties.  I’ve never seen Hunter about-face with such speed; he nearly vaulted over the dining table to close himself in Ev’s bedroom.  I was fairly certain I caught the hint of a blush before he bolted.  Ah, good times.
    I raised up on my tippy-toes to peer through the peephole in the door, a recent addition courtesy of Hunter, and saw nothing but a wall of black.  I paused for a moment, wondering if the person on the other side placed their thumb over the glass, but dismissed the idea when I noticed the contours of the black abyss before me.  I verified that the security chain was engaged before unlocking the deadbolt and opening the door.
    Jiminy Crickets!  The black void was a shirt, specifically a t-shirt undergoing durability testing as it strained to contain a scandalously muscled chest and shoulders most NFL linebackers would envy.  I found myself confronted with a decision that no woman should ever have to make; do I look upward to assess the face attached to the scrumptious MMA pecs or go downward to find what other gifts God had bestowed on this specimen.  Who was I kidding; there was only one right answer.  As my gaze headed south, I was greeted by a mid-section that was clearly well tended and hard as stone.  Despite his sinfully tight shirt, I couldn’t make out his abs, but I suspected the shirt was covering a defined six-pack.  Would it be rude to ask him to remove his shirt before inviting him in?  Continuing my exploration, I discovered distressed denim, bulging in all the right places, draped over long, thick legs.  Hot damn!  Hunter was finally paying off with the hot guy friends.  I knew this day would come, it was inevitable, but I was still overwhelmed with gratitude—Ev would be getting an extra nice Christmas present this year.
    I slowly raised my gaze, verifying that the sight I beheld was not a mirage, and it happened…finally.  There was no tingle or twinge, not a whisper of desire or hint of arousal—no, the floodgates of my previously dormant libido opened and a tsunami of lust swept through me.  My breath caught and I was forced to grip the doorframe to prevent melting into a puddle on the floor or climbing this tree of man-flesh like the primate I had been reduced to.  I gathered the remnants of my cognitive function—the miniscule part of my brain not dedicated to making an erotic laundry list of the many naughty activities I wanted to enlist this man’s help with—to prepare for the possible disappointment, should the face accompanying this god-like body be one that sent children shrieking in horror.  On the other hand, guys had practiced the “bag over her head” technique for years.  I needed to do it, rip the Band-Aid off and accept the possible disillusionment.  I reinforced myself, inhaled deeply, and raised my eyes.  You’ve got to be kidding me!
    “Griffin?” I accused more than asked.
    “Hello Sam, good to see you too,” he returned wryly.  “Shall I turn so you can get the 360-degree show?”
    I reached up to unlatch the security chain, allowing the door to swing open.
    “Since I’ve been busted eye-fondling you already, I don’t see the harm,” I called his bluff.
    Surprise registered on his face before he slowly turned, stopping when his ass was perfectly presented, going so far as to put his hands on his hips, emphasizing his biceps and back too.  I suspected he may have even clenched his glutes for maximum impact.  Never one to look a gift-butt in the mouth, I took my time perusing every inch of him.  Once again wildfire devoured my previously dormant netherworld, scorching me with need.  What the hell had happened to him over the past five months?  Griffin had always been hot, six feet four inches of toned muscle, with a halo of light blonde hair and pale grey eyes—but this man would inspire legends.  Women would whisper his name reverently for decades, never