Page 65 of Tempt Thy Neighbor

We called a silent truce last night after the shower. We didn’t talk about what had just happened. We didn’t talk about the past. And we definitely didn’t discuss what this means for the fact that we’re roommates and coworkers.

Instead, I curled into his side and he ran his fingers through my hair until I fell asleep with my head on his chest…only to wake hours later with an ache between my legs I couldn’t satiate. He fucked me lazily from behind until we both came.

Even though I don’t want to leave his ridiculously comfortable bed, the scent of bacon grows stronger, and I figure it’s time to crawl out of bed and face him before he comes wandering in here.

I help myself to the plain black tee balled up at the foot of the bed, hoping he doesn’t mind, then head to the bathroom and use some of his mouthwash.

When I peek at myself in the mirror, I finally get what the phraselookingthoroughly fuckedmeans.

My lips are swollen, the marks on my collarbone are more pronounced, and there are bruises forming on my hips in the shape of Sutton’s hands. My eyes look a shade brighter, and my skin looks years younger—dark circles under my eyes and all.

I run my hands through my hair, finger-combing it into place as best I can, then slip the t-shirt on. I’ve looked better, but this will have to do.

I pull in a strong breath for confidence and make my way to the kitchen.

With his back to me, he has no idea I’m there.

No idea I’m watching him scramble eggs in nothing but a pair of sweats, that body he’s always in the gym sculpting on full display. Just seeing the way his muscles move across his back makes my fingers itch to touch him, and desire rockets to my core like I didn’t have four orgasms last night.

I imagine sneaking up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist, plunging my hands into his pants and gripping his cock. Spinning him around and dropping to my knees for him.

I clench my thighs together as I picture him looking down at me with that damn smirk I hate.

Fucking hell.

What is the matter with me, fantasizing about him like I can’t get enough?

But that’s what happens with Sutton. I lose all my sense.

“You know I can feel you undressing me with your eyes, right?” He peeks at me over his shoulder, grinning. “And you know I’m really fucking enjoying it, right?”

My cheeks burn knowing I’ve been caught.

He chuckles, returning his attention to the stove. He flips a burner off and moves the pan from the heat. Divvies up the food between two plates, then sets breakfast on the island.

“Hope eggs, bacon, and toast are okay?” He looks at me expectantly, and I nod. “Good. Coffee?”

Another nod because it’s apparently all I can manage.

Who the hell is he right now? Did a few orgasms turn him into a different person? Was all his assholery due to lack of getting laid?

He busies himself fixing two mugs of fresh coffee, adding a splash of milk and a dash of cinnamon to one. I love that he remembers how I take my coffee.

He sets the coffees in front of the plates, then rounds the counter, not stopping until he’s standing before me.

Considering all the things I let him do to me last night, I shouldn’t feel embarrassed standing in front of him right now, but I do.

I drop my eyes to the floor in an effort to avoid his stare. He tucks two fingers under my chin—two fingers Iknoware magic—and lifts my face to meet his.

“Pretty sure you’re not allowed to be embarrassed when just a few hours ago you screamed out things likeOh god, fuck me harder, Sutton.”

“I didn’t scream it.”

“You’re right. Youdemanded.”

“I politely requested.”

His lips twitch. “Good morning.”

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