Ellie West has her life all mapped out, but after disappointing news, she's forced to take in the mysterious Seth Carter as a roommate.
Can the arrangement work?
Sure.
As long as she can accept his past, embrace his demons and maintain a firm gri...
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After my morning shower, I enter the kitchen to make a much-needed pot of coffee. Low snores sound from Seth's spot on my couch. Sparing a glance, I notice his head is smashed against my pillow. Great. I'm going to have to Febreeze the crap out of it later so his man stench doesn't jam up my nose the next time I use it.
As I get closer, I halt my steps.
The blanket that should conceal Seth's body has slipped to the side, revealing his broad, sculpted chest. The lean muscles expand and tense with each breath he takes, his skin practically glowing under the dim stretch of sunlight coming through the window.
It's an impressive sight, for sure. But it's not what my eyes fixate on.
He's switched out of his clothes from last night into a pair of navy gym shorts and they're the only article of clothing concealing the thick, straining hard on between his muscular thighs.
Thank God they're in place since it's standing at full mast, beaming at me with yellow arrows pointing in its direction.
Holy Mother.
Hot desire shoots through me. The muscles in my stomach clench and my tongue lodges itself against the top of my mouth. I should divert my eyes-my pulse pounds in my ears, supporting that idea-but I'm transfixed, incapable of looking away.
After shameful seconds of gawking, an idea manifests, and instead of removing myself, I swallow down my attraction, throw my hands onto my hips, and snicker. I'm going to enjoy this moment, same way he'd enjoyed my embarrassing towel display yesterday.
Seth Carter, you're about to be spoon fed a taste of your own medicine.
"Morning Sunshine."
At my voice, he stirs, scrunching his eyes and stretching his limbs. I ignore the way his biceps and pecs flex with the movement.
When his glassy eyes finally settle onto me, I throw on a conniving smirk. "Having a good dream?"
Confusion knits his brows until he notices the rod bulging beneath his shorts. "Fuck, Ellie."
Throwing the blanket over his waist, he bolts into a seated position.
I laugh at my success and turn for the kitchen, throwing my hand into the air. "Maybe if you slept in your room, you wouldn't have this problem." Maybe I won't appallingly waste my time staring at your crotch either.
"It's not a problem to me. I'm a guy. This shit happens." A blissful grin lands on his mouth. "The only problem I have is with you waking me in the middle of screwing Jennifer Aniston."
"Sounds wonderful," I deadpan, internally fuming over how easily he navigated out of his predicament. The guy has a hard on for Christ's sake and he couldn't care less.
"Oh, it was." He rises from the couch with the blanket wrapped around his waist. "She was stretched over a 69' Ford Mustang, panting my name as I-"
