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Everly Bowman and I don’t make sense. She’s sunshine personified, and I hate everyone. Well, everyone but her. It’s easy to pretend like she isn’t my whole world. Or it was until she needs a place to stay, and my apartment is her only option.


She deserved better than this. She deserved someone who wouldn’t take advantage of her when she was at her lowest. Who wouldn’t devour her on a goddamn chair two hours after her house had caught on fire. Jesus. I needed to get my shit together and be that man for her—the best friend she’d come to count on—and not just some guy with a hard-on who wanted to fuck her. I was her only support in Starlight Cove, and I’d just jeopardized that for a quick make-out session.


I needed some space to clear my head, but I wasn’t going to leave her. I couldn’t—not just for her peace of mind, but for mine. Which left me only one option—a shower. And from the state of my dick, I could certainly use one. 


Thankfully, Everly slept like the dead, so when I stood with her in my arms, she didn’t stir. And she didn’t so much as twitch when I set her back on the chair and draped the blanket over her before silently making my way to the bathroom. 


Once inside, I stripped and climbed into the shower, not bothering to wait for the water to heat up. Maybe the jolt in temperature would knock some sense into me. What the hell had I been thinking? She’d just lost everything—everything—she had, and I’d shoved my tongue down her throat. Had settled my hands on her hips and guided her hot little pussy over me until I was nearly ready to explode in my pants like a goddamn teenager.


With a growl of frustration, I grabbed the soap and started scrubbing, as if that would absolve me of the memories from last night. But the scent did nothing to dissuade my throbbing cock, recalling the smell of it on Everly. Great. So now I was going to get hard every time I washed myself, like Pavlov’s fucking dog. 


When Everly had dropped into my lap last night, smelling like me, wearing my clothes, and looking like a fucking wet dream, all bright eyes and pouty lips, it’d taken all I had to stay still. To not move a fucking inch. I hadn’t known what to do or how to respond—what was appropriate in that situation, ’cause I sure as fuck didn’t know. But then her uncertainty had taken the uncertainty out of it for me, because I’d be whatever she needed me to be—always had, always would. And at that point, she’d needed my comfort.


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