(Please read Theron 1 before moving on to this book)
A stranger washes ashore on a deserted beach.
With no memory of who or what he is, the only clue he has to his identity--the only thing he recalls from his past life--is a single, solitary name:...
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Apparently, they all live here.
They each have a bedroom and that bedroom has a personal bathroom so the cabin is gi-fucking-normous. Oddly enough though, there is only one guest room and that went to Bug, not me...
I told Lina I could sleep on the couch. I mean, I have slept in worse areas before so even a couch seems heavenly right now but she insisted I take her room. It was literally the most she's talked to me since I found her so my dumbass never did consider the consequences of staying in her quarters...
Now, I regret not arguing further.
Don't get me wrong, it's a nice space. There's a large window that takes up the whole wall and proudly showcases the mountainous landscape. The room itself is painted a cool, calming blue with a matching bedroom suite made of gray wood. It's rustic and homey and obviously a matching set.
An expensive matching set.
Jesus, what do these people do for a living and where can I get a job like that?
I shake my thoughts away, returning them instead to this room I presently and thoroughly despise. Its a raging war inside me--one side fighting for the right to walk away and take residence on the couch and the other yearning desperately to roll around on the bed like a fucking dog because her scent is deliciously overpowering.
And it isn't tainted with the other males in the house which pleases me a bit more than it should and when I say that, I am not referring to the emotional proclivity aspect--that would be a blessing at this point but no. Its this fucking demonic beast inside me that suddenly cannot keep it in his pants.
I roll my shoulders ignoring my throbbing cock. In two fucking years it has not even mildly twitched and now, less than six hours with Lina, it decides to finally squash my fears and confirm I definitely do not have a case of perpetual limp dick. Unfortunately, I hold a grudge so it will not be receiving any satisfactorial release from me.
Well... not tonight anyway.
Noticing the clothes she pulled from her closet, I can't help but also wonder why there is no additional male scent here. Obviously another man lives here--I can't imagine any other purpose for having a closet full of men's clothing. Staring at the gray sweatpants and plain white t-shirt, I frown. I'm further confused when I cannot locate a defining scent... infact, they do not smell particularly specific at all and yes, I did fucking inhale those clothes like a goddamn Gain commercial.
Regardless, they won't fit. I already know that. The shirt will be too short and too tight and the sweats will not even cover my ankles. It will be manageable but not fucking comfortable, thats for sure.
I rub my face and groan in frustration. The last thing I want to do is look like a tool.
My ears zone in downstairs. Everyone is still on the first level and they are talking about me...
