The absolutely hottest girl he had ever met sat in his bed, back propped by pillows and wall as legs formed a small pyramid across his thighs. He strove to ignore the minor gasps and tremors he could feel emanate from her body as he slowly, methodically, sensually rubbed the body oil into her feet. He slowly moved to her ankles, where he sensed a significant muscle strain. Sliding the flannel pajama leg up he placed a hand on the top and the bottom of the afflicted calf muscle, and as heat began to flow between the massive paws her eyes popped open. “Lukas! You don’t have to…..” but the pain was already gone.

For him, the minor pain transference proved a welcome distraction for the raging storm in his groin, poorly hidden by the loose sweats and low light of the dim aquascapes throughout his room.

Instead of answering directly, he massaged the lower calves more deeply as if lost in the ritual. Then, “You know, being from a colder climate, I’m kind of an expert on flannel pajamas,” and he gazed into her eyes with his best serious, studious eyes.

“Then why do you have sweats on?”

Ignoring the question, “As an expert, I know, as an example, that those pajamas you are wearing are the absolute sexiest flannel pajamas one can find.”

Did he imagine a blush? “How, they cover everything!”

“That’s not the point. But, they do and they don’t. As a counterpoint, the missed button there proves that they do not cover a nonexistent bra, and that,” he coughs, “well….maybe back to the point. The reason they are the sexiest pajamas ever is because the most beautiful, sexiest woman I have ever met is currently wearing them.”

His hands moved to the back of the knees, where he’d read was an erogenous zone. The way she seemed to squirm a bit indicated he might be right. “Further proof to support my assertion is that all the flannel pajamas worn by this extremely, achingly hot girl have been the sexiest at the time, but are all tied for second place because she isn’t wearing them now.”

The pajamas were loose enough that he was able to slide the legs a bit further up, rubbing oil and just the slightest amount of healing energy to remove all the minor strains and bruises of an athlete who trains constantly, and he could feel when the muscles turned to jelly.

That’s when he leaned in, kissing her lips lightly, using all of his remaining willpower to pull back lightly, and to slowly pull her into his arms, her head cradled on his chest. “Time for sleep, baby.”

“That’s just wrong,” she breathed or maybe moaned into his chest.

“Was it?” He tried really hard to make sure none of his own previous or current need and frustration poured into his joking retort.

She started to move her hand down his abdomen, so he started to speak, but her hand ran slightly over the front of his light sweatpants, but then she brought her arms up to lay across him.

He smiled at her, before speaking a bit breathlessly, “Tonight, sleep,” he paused a bit , “but next weekend, after we catch those motherfuckers, you and I are going on a real date. Whether it’s the beach, or exploring the new ranch place, or shopping or whatever else we decide to go, you and I are doing whatever we want. Just us. Together. What do you think?”

Whether it was his imagination or a trick of the subdued lighting, but to him, her brilliant blue eyes glowed mystically as she smiled, “Yes.”