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Like, I think I might actually stagger back a step.
God, I hope not. But holy fucking hell. This guy that just waltzed into the Bradford’s residents-only lounge is seriously the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.
I mean, yeah, I totally get that a statement like that sounds like hyperbole, but fuck…
He’s tall, at least six feet, with broad shoulders that taper to a narrow waist, his body a perfect masculine V-shape that makes me certain there’s another sinfully sexy V right underneath his clothes that points straight down to heaven.
But it’s not his body that has my mouth suddenly as dry as the fucking Mojave. Neither is it his dark hair—almost black—that’s perfectly in place except for this one lock over his eyebrows that has my fingers itching to reach up and brush it away.
No, it’s his eyes—it’s just as dark as his hair. They suck me in like a vortex, an abyss, a black hole, or some other science-y shit. Making the dryness of my mouth a perfect counterpoint to the wetness pooling in my La Perla.
Like, if my mouth is a desert, my pussy is a fucking geyser right now.
I give myself a little shake. Because what the fuck?
A hot guy isn’t exactly new territory for me. Neither is the way those depthless orbs seem to latch onto me and devour me whole, full of filthy intention.
This happens on the regular, and not because I’m some supermodel or something. I just give off that vibe. I’m confident, sure of myself, and that translates into a sexiness that transcends mere looks.
I’ve realized this over the years. Sexiness is an attitude, a mindset.
One I’ve mastered.
So yeah, my knees shouldn’t feel like jelly right now. My stomach shouldn’t be fluttering in a way that feels like a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies was let loose inside of me. And my pussy shouldn’t be throbbing, clenching, fucking aching as this guy walks toward me.
But it is.
Then he smiles.
“Hey.”
One word. That’s all. And my whole fucking world is turned upside down.
“Hey,” I say back.
Yeah, that whole thing about Erin normally being articulate? Her momentary lapse is nothing compared to the total lack of game I have right now. I want to kick myself, slap myself, pinch myself—anything to not feel like I’m at a total loss.
But nope, apparently, all I can do is smile dumbly at this guy.
I feel a sudden sharp pain in my side as Erin nudges me in the ribs. It jolts me out of my momentary stupor, enough for me to tear my eyes away from Adonis himself.
Erin’s looking back and forth between me and this guy, then she smiles waaaay too innocently.
“I’m headed downstairs. Catch you later, Emilia.”
She’s gone before I can even process that she totally just ditched me for the night. But right now, I could practically kiss her for it. Because Hottie McHotterson reaches out his hand and takes mine, drawing it up to the very lips I can’t tear my eyes from.
“Emilia.”
He smiles again, sending a vibration of anticipation rocketing through my body.
“I’m Evan.”
Two
Evan
Fuck.
