Everly
As soon asI open the front door, I’m assaulted by the smell of oranges, which means Law is making Old Fashioneds. Most people would assume juice or maybe a fruit salad, but I know my baby brother; it’s the weekend, and oranges mean Old Fashioneds.
I trip over a pile of black duffels and garment bags in the front foyer. Then I hear laughing from the kitchen and Law shouting from somewhere in the house. The negative to living with roommates is that you have to deal with their habits, and Law has a knack for not thinking ahead. Like,I shouldn't leave stuff in front of the door in case someone else walks in...
“LAW! Why is your shit all over the floor? C’mon! I almost just fell on my face. And whose motorcycle is that? Who drives a Harley up here?”
I’m tired and cranky. The walk home, while beautiful, was also just a bit too far, and at the peak point of the day, with the sun high, getting me nice and sweaty, my thighs chafed, and a blister started on my right foot.
I’m still yelling while I walk into the kitchen. “Law, my boobs are sweating, I have no idea where my underwear went, and I’m-”
I stop dead in my tracks. My brain can’t register all of the parts that make up the stranger that’s leaning casually on our marble counter.
Are we being robbed? Are we being robbed by the world’s hottest robber? Is he here to kidnap me?Take me, please. I’ll go willingly.
Looking at this dish of a man is like ticking off a list of the most delicious features on a menu made up of all the fixins that are about to result in a hands-free orgasm.
Sexy smile. Oh, there’s a dimple, nope, two.I’ll tick that box.
Light eyes. Are they sparkling?Yup, check.
Dark brown, nope, black hair, cut tight.Check. Is it wet?
Tight black t-shirt showing off nicely sized biceps. Yup, and sculpted shoulders.We’ll just go ahead and select that too.
Don’t look down.Damnit.He’s wearing dark, faded jeans.Those fit nicely.
My eyes rove over to his hands resting on the counter and a leather cuff wraps around his wrist.Why is that sexy?
No wedding ring.Check.
No tan line or indentation from a pocketed wedding ring either.Double-check.
And he’s just waiting in my kitchen to be visually assaulted. My face feels hot, and I realize I haven’t said anything since I plowed into the room less than thirty seconds ago. He’s staring back at me now, with no reaction, just an intimidating, stoic gaze. The corner of his very pretty mouth twitches slightly. If I had blinked right then, I would have missed it. This tall drink of sex water is very aware that he has me flustered.
Sex water? No idea what that is, but I’m thirsty and want a big ol’ sip.
I imagine this happens to him often, but for me, this is new. Not many people catch me off guard. Even fewer kick-start a ticker-tape parade of dirty thoughts that begins and ends with a very suckable lower lip, like the one on that man's mouth.
The robber slash live-action thirst trap licks it, as if I needed another reason to change my not-even-there underwear, and says, “The Harley and bags are mine.” His smooth, deep voice drops an octave lower as he continues. “Would it make you feel more comfortable knowing that I’m not wearing any either?”
Of course, without thinking, like a reflex, I look down at his crotch. Did his dick just flex and wave at me? Look away. Look. Away. Damn it.I looked again.
“Everly! Finally!” Law shouts as he jogs down the stairs and across the room.
That knocks me right out of the eye-fucking haze.
Law stops mid-stride and stares at me. “Did youwalkhome?” And before I can even answer, he continues. “I’m making afternoon drinks.” He turns back and ignores, or just completely misses, the fact that I was rattled by the stranger standing mere feet from me. “I was just going to give Jack a tour, but we thought it would be better with a drink. Want one?”
I shift my gaze back to our supposed houseguest, who has managed to completely throw me off any type of game. He crosses his arms over his chest like he’s amused and I’m his entertainment. I spot his dimple again as the left corner of his mouth kicks up. This man is so beautiful, it’s impossible to not acknowledge it, even if I’m annoyed by it. Even if I hadn’t already dragged my attention over every inch of this man’s body, it would have been impossible to not notice that with his arms crossed, his shoulders and biceps strain under his shirt, and I’m all of a sudden very appreciative of his upper body workouts. What does it feel like to be overpowered by those arms? Grabbed by his hands? Held tight against him?
I keep trying to shake myself out of these thoughts, but the universe decided to have a good laugh in my honor today. Is this anask and you shall receive,orcomplainers are foolsmoment? My heart rate won’t slow down, racing so fast it feels like I just finished a warm-up sprint at the gym. I’m fairly certain my cheeks are still shades of pink, andifthere were panties involved, they’d be long ruined by now.