Page 27 of Ruthless Alpha Beast

Great.

Then, without realizing it, I pause.

In front of me is a whole map of ridged abs that remind me of mountainous terrain. Hard ridges dip up and down as his torso lies stretched out over the couch.

I gulp, my mouth noticeably dry.

Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting him to be shirtless, that’s for sure.

I’m mesmerized by the size of him, the contours of his body, and the way his muscles trace jagged lines all along his body.

His arms are flexed behind his head, revealing thick biceps and two large tufts of blonde hair.

This should be gross. I should find this gross.

He has so much hair.

I look down at the V of his waist and notice that his gray sweatpants are riding low. I don’t dare look any lower.

I remember this, suddenly, I remember the feel of him on top of me. Images of me moaning beneath him amid soft sheets rock me to my core. I fight the urge to jump on top of him. Idon’twant to be thinking about that right now.

But I am. I can’t help it.

I remember too vividly what it’s like to touch those muscles. The way his hands (thankfully) were out of view, traced their way down my body, massaged the wet parts of me.

My groans ring through my ears as my vision hones in on his V. He has sandy blonde hair tracing down his belly button that draws me in as though it were some precious stone, and not what it actually is, which is gross male hair.

There’s something so animalistic about the way he’s resting. Like a sleeping lion, or well, a wolf.

He’s frowning ever so slightly, his thick eyebrows creased, his face glowing beneath the morning sun.

Move, Tara.

I shake my head to snap myself out of the strange spell his shirtless body is casting over me.

I hate him. And I want nothing more than to jump onto his couch, to hit his stupid muscles, and tell him exactly what I think.

“Good morning,” his sleepy voice says, reminding me of sex. Or the moments afterward, which actually turned out to be very unfortunate for us.

I jump a little, but not too much; all the shock hides itself in my chest.

I feel like I’ve just been caught doing something very wrong.

“Good morning,” I mutter, looking away. “I was just heading out to start my day. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but well, yeah,I’m starting my day.”

I’m emphasizing that last part because I really,reallyneed to start my day.

He chuckles, rubs his hands over his face, and opens his eyes. I don’t enjoy the way his gaze makes me feel.

“Oh shut up, you don’t know your way around here, or what your day would even involve. I’m making us breakfast.”

I plan on telling him no, or some form of no that sounds like ‘go to hell,’ but I also realize that I’m very hungry.

And there’s no way thatI’mcooking forhim.

“Fine,” I mumble, before quickly turning to leave.

“Where are you going?” He asks me. He’s still shirtless as he asks me this, and it’s all I can think about.