She drags her hand through mine, and my eyes float closed. I savor her touch and the way desire shoots through my body from that simple act of her touching my hair.
“I like a masculine jawline,” she says. She drags her thumb across mine, and lust curls like hot flames inside me.
I open my eyes and swallow harshly. I don’t say a word. I don’t have to. She’s crafting a soliloquy to the male form, and I’m her muse right now. “I love stubble,” she continues as she touches my face, demonstrating all her likes. Then her hand drifts to my arm. “And strong arms and muscles.”
Her hand darts to my belly. Her eyes twinkle with mischief. She drops her voice to a sexy whisper. “I love a little happy trail, too.”
And the fire goes wild. It torches my blood. It fucking consumes me. I’m not sure I’ll ever cool off.
“Men just turn me on. But I don’t want to be in a threesome.”
“What do you want?”
She juts up her shoulder. “One guy who wants me the way I want him.”
Fuck this roommate situation. Fuck New York City housing. Fuck the horrors of finding four walls. I want to be that guy so badly.
“You should be worshipped. You deserve it,” I say, my voice thick with lust I can’t hide. “You’re perfect.”
Her lips part, and soft words fall from them. “So are you.”
Here we are on the diddle couch, talking about what turns us on. I don’t know how I ever thought I could cordon off sex from friendship and lust from emotion, but with Josie staring at me with heat in her green eyes, I have to exercise every ounce of my self-control.
Fortunately, she stands up and saves me from me. She smacks her forehead. “Totally forgot. I need to wash my hair.” She nods. “I think I got some seven-layer bar in it.”
“Yeah. You should wash the seven layers from your hair.”
She turns the corner and heads to the bathroom.
This time I know she’s not retreating. She’s not crying. She’s not sad. She’s turned on.
A minute later, the water cranks on, the beat of the shower stream pounding against the tile. I close my eyes, my breath already coming hard, and I picture her naked. In my fantasy, I stand there, watching her. Her hands slide over her full breasts then slip between her legs. She doesn’t even need her toy right now, she’s so worked up.
And so the fuck am I. My dick is going to punish me if I don’t deal with these epic levels of arousal right now.
I can’t stand this anymore. I’ve got to do something about this roommate situation.
From the New York Times Bestselling author of MISTER O and BIG ROCK, comes a hot & hilarious new standalone romantic comedy...
I've been told I have quite a gift.
Hey, I don't just mean in my pants. I've got a big brain too, and a huge heart of gold. And I like to use all my gifts to the fullest, the package included. Life is smooth sailing....
Until I find myself stuck between a rock and a sexy roommate, which makes for one very hard...place.
Because scoring an apartment in this city is harder than finding true love. So even if I have to shack up with my buddy's smoking hot and incredibly amazing little sister, a man's got to do what a man's got to do.
I can resist Josie. I'm disciplined, I'm focused, and I keep my hands to myself, even in the mere five-hundred square feet we share. Until the one night she insists on sliding under the covers with me. It'll help her sleep after what happened that day, she says.
Spoiler-neither one of us sleeps.
Did I mention she's also one of my best friends? That she's brilliant, beautiful and a total firecracker? Guess that makes her the full package too.
What's a man stuck in a hard place to do?
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And I've got both firing on all cylinders. In fact, I have ALL the right assets. Looks, brains, my own money, and a big c&$k.
You might think I'm an as%*$le. I sound like one, don’t I? I'm hot as sin, rich as heaven, smart as hell and hung like a horse.
Guess what? You haven't heard my story before. Sure, I might be a playboy, like the NY gossip rags call me. But I’m the playboy who’s actually a great guy. Which makes me one of a kind.
The only trouble is, my dad needs me to cool it for a bit. With conservative investors in town wanting to buy his flagship Fifth Avenue jewelry store, he needs me not only to zip it up, but to look the part of the committed guy. Fine. I can do this for Dad. After all, I’ve got him to thank for the family jewels. So I ask my best friend and business partner to be my fiancée for the next week. Charlotte’s up for it. She has her own reasons for saying yes to wearing this big rock.
And pretty soon all this playing pretend in public leads to no pretending whatsoever in the bedroom, because she just can’t fake the kind of toe-curling, window-shattering orgasmic cries she makes as I take her to new heights between the sheets.
But I can’t seem to fake that I might be feeling something real for her.
What the hell have I gotten myself into with this…big rock?
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