When her arm brushed against his, her cool sweat mixed with his, hot from exertion even with the mild October weather. The touch sent a shock to his cock, which he wouldn’t have thought possible as he exercised. Activity was his way of steering clear from complicated relationships. Perhaps it was like a drug that had stopped working. He either needed more exercise or sex with Zara, and the last one wasn’t an option. She probably wouldn’t even consider it with her low opinion of cops. He glanced at the woman. Tall, blonde, medium sized breasts jiggling in time with her legs.
“Ah, um.” He struggled to think of anything but her sweaty, naked breasts bouncing as she rode his dick. He coughed to cover his moan of desire. Hell, he’d never wanted any woman this badly, not even that curvy, burlesque dancer he’d dated for a while.
That title brought him out of his fantasy. “Call me James.”
“I thought it was Jameson.”
“I’ll call you that,” she said, as if she didn’t need permission from him. “I like it better.”