Gil knew he was talking too much. He had to, to keep awake and and try not to think about the mess they were in.
He felt his face reddening in spite of the cold and he was all too aware of the long-fingered hands roaming his back and thighs. One had crept close to the tailbone, rubbing in small fiery circles, and the other jellied the base of his buttocks gently, reminding him of the lard he carried there. Baby-fat, damn it, but embarrassing anyway.
Funny how the tall mad’d seemed almost skinny in his Levi’s and workshirt, before the peel-down had revealed smooth layers of solid muscle over the lanky bone structure. Patches of silky-looking jet black hair highlighted large flat brown nipples, and splattered down the deep…