Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
This is normal roommate behavior. Some light, casual flirting. A handful of deeply suggestive jokes. And okay, maybe I panicked and chewed on a flower garnish to keep from saying something wildly inappropriate—but in my defense, it was either that or make a comment about his mouth.
We laughed. We vibed.
We had fun.
It’s just a friendly little olive branch. A casual, no-pressure invitation to get to know him better. As his buddy.
Obviously.
“Hey,” I’ll say. “Wanna have a glass of wine on the back patio?”
Breezy. Cause I’m chill.
Nothing at all weird about this. Just two consenting adults, enjoying a nightcap and pretending we’re not low-key obsessed with the way the other person’s ass looks in jeans.
I raise my hand to knock.
Pause.
Lower it again.
Take a deep breath.
“Knock, knock!” I say, turning the knob and gently pushing his bedroom door open and peeking inside. “Turner?”
I don’t immediately understand what I’m looking at; there’s too much happening at once: his giant tufted headboard. His bare torso. Bare chest.
Legs spread.
Dick.
Stroking.
Balls.
Holy shit—he’s jerking off.
His head is tipped back, throat exposed, eyes closed in concentration. His hand moves in slow, deliberate strokes and his mouth parts just enough to let out a low, throaty sound that does amazing things to my vagina.
“Oh my god!” I go to back out but cannot peel my eyes off his stroking hand; or his asshole. Or thick, spread thighs.
Then—
His eyes open.
And meet mine.
We freeze at the same time—him mid-stroke, me mid-breath. Time slams to a halt. I should run, but I don’t. Can’t. Not from his wide eyes.
Not from his flushed, heaving chest.
Not from the very obvious situation currently happening between his legs. My god he has a seriously gorgeous dick.
He strokes it, pained expression on his face, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip and oh my god is it hot.
I slam the door shut so fast I almost knock the bottle of wine out of my own hand. I spin, pressing my back to the door, heart hammering, lungs exploding into my chest.
Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.
I just walked in on my roommate. Jerking off. ACTIVELY. HAND. TO. COCK.
He’s going to evict me.
No. Wait. I have to evict myself.
Pack my things. Flee the state. Assume a new identity and start over as someone who doesn’t burst in on innocent men mid self-love sesh. There’s no coming back from this. I will have to move to another city.
Quickly, I retreat to the kitchen, slamming the wine bottle on the counter and set down the glass, hurrying back to my bedroom, closing myself inside.
Lock it for good measure.
Go straight to my bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror; cheeks flushed, eyes dilated. I look as wild as I feel right now.
“What even was that?” I hiss, gripping the sink.
My reflection? Zero help. “Did you seriously walk into his room without knocking?”
“Yes!” I whisper-yell at myself, like that makes it better. “YES, I DID.”
Why would I have done that?! Unannounced! WITHOUT KNOCKING! With wine as if I was about to seduce him when clearly he was already busy seducing himself!
You want to know the worst part?
It’s not the nudity. Turner has an amazing body. His abs have their own zip code. His thighs look like they could crush a watermelon. And his—
It wasn’t even the fact that his saggy balls were out for the world to see.
Nope—not the problem.
Not even close to the problem.
The worst part is that it was so fucking hot.
My pussy clenches involuntarily. Betrayal. Absolute betrayal.
I should be mortified. I mean—I am.
But I’m also… panting?
Jeezuz, why am I panting?!
It’s the way his head tipped back—like he was offering his entire soul to the ceiling. The low, guttural sound that slipped from his mouth like it had no right being that sexy. The sheer, unapologetic confidence of him—one hand wrapped around himself, the other probably balancing on a thigh like some sort of erotic Greek statue.
“STOP,” I hiss out loud, slapping my own face with a pillow. “DO NOT.”
Do not mentally rewind.
Do not visualize the vein.
No part of my body is listening, and this is going to haunt me.
Every time I look at him. Every time I walk past his room. Every time I hear the click of Netflix autoplay and know he’s in there, relaxing like a perfectly normal person, while I’m out here fighting the world’s most inappropriate crush.
What the hell am I supposed to say tomorrow? SERIOUSLY. SOMEONE TELL ME.
“Oh. Hey. Sorry I barged in and caught you mid-orgasm, here’s some orange juice?”
Kill me.
Kill me now.
It’s late but I assume Nova is awake—she’s a night owl, like me—and I shoot her an SOS, my second emergency since arriving in Texas.
Me: HELP. SOS
Nova: Is this an actual emergency, or did you walk in on your roomie with his shirt off, ha hah ahahahah LOL
I never give her enough credit for being this insightful…