Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
He lifts a brow and glances over at my cat. Hot Biscuit Slim has usurped the seat of his armchair, sitting up with a lower leg extended like an exotic dancer’s while he licks his belly. “It’s that bad?”
“Not most of the time, not since I switched him over to grain free. But every once in a while he’ll sneak food he’s not supposed to eat and the stench reaches catastrophic levels. Unfortunately, that includes yesterday and the day before. I’m not sure if his system is cleared out yet. But it’s seriously toxic.”
“Yet you survived.”
“Only because I’ve built up some immunity. The first week after I adopted him, I was unconscious more often than not. So I’m not sure what horrors would happen to you if you’re ever locked in a small bathroom with him.”
His lips twitch. “Consider me sufficiently warned.”
About twenty minutes later, I wish that someone had sufficiently warned me. Not about Hot Biscuit Slim, but about what my poor little eyes would witness when Reed emerges from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his hips.
I wasn’t sure the small water heater could supply the bathroom and the kitchen at the same time, so I haven’t started on the dishes yet. Instead I’m still seated at the table, scrolling through the library on my phone, when the bathroom door opens—and there he is.
Half naked. And built like a lumberjack, for fuck’s sake.
The thermal base layers he’d worn earlier hugged his body like a second skin, so I knew what he was working with. Every bit of Reed Knowles is solid. Thick. Not as ridiculously defined as a dehydrated superhero but not soft, either.
Yet if I’d been asked whether I’d pictured anything beneath those thermal layers—I hadn’t, because it was Reed Knowles—but if I’d been asked, I’d have said he probably looks like a Ken doll underneath. Smooth and shiny and fake.
Ha ha. Yeah, no.
He’s hairy.
And not in the way he should be hairy, with a carpet on his back and sprouting from the tops of his toes, with a sparse scraggle poking out around his nipples. Life just isn’t that fair. Because he’s the good kind of hairy—the kind that seems to emphasize the breadth of his chest and the strength of his legs, and of course he’s got one of those yummy lines arrowing down the center of abdomen.
Maybe I should have known. Especially since he’s sporting heavy stubble on his jaw that wasn’t there last night. I should have realized he wasn’t smooth and shiny. But I didn’t think about it. So I’m not prepared for how lust grabs hold of my innards at the mere sight of him.
A few breathless, horrible moments of unbridled lust.
It doesn’t last, because he begins a halting progress toward the bed. I might be vicious, but seeing someone so obviously in pain inspires the opposite of a panty drenching.
“Did the shower help?”
“A little.” Reed reaches the bed and eases down to sit on the edge. “I won’t have clean clothes until I get my pack, so I washed what I was wearing and hung them over the towel rod to dry. Feel free to move them if you need to.”
“I will.”
He pulls back the covers on the bed. The muscles in his arm and shoulder flex and I lock my eyes on my phone, not at all interested in what’s happening over on that side of the cabin. Nope. Not at all. I’m absolutely not aware of the creak of the bedframe as I pick a book at random. I’m absolutely not imagining anything.
Then I don’t have to imagine, because he hisses in a sharp breath. Instinctively I look up to see what hurt him—his leg. He’s swinging his injured leg up onto the bed. His towel is hanging on the bedpost. And I get an eyeful of cock. A large eyeful. Even though it’s flaccid…and following a cold shower.
I drag my gaze away. But I can still see it.
God help me.
I am inoculated against good looks. I’m not so immune to a male body that’s tall and strong and thick (and good hairy), especially if all of his appendages are in tall and strong and thick proportion to the rest of him.
Reed Knowles has no place in the best Christmas ever. What’s between his thighs, however, might be the perfect gift for anyone interested in getting their stocking stuffed.
I’m not. Despite the tightening under my belly. Despite the liquid warmth pooling down low. Despite the way my imagination just went into overdrive.
I’m not lusting after him. I’m lusting after that dick. That’s totally normal. After all, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten any that didn’t run on batteries.
It’s also not a state that will change anytime soon. Not with him. So I won’t think about his overlarge appendage anymore. I’m just going to focus on my book.