Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Standing in front of this locked door, it dawns on me how urgently I need to pee. I was planning to go at the airport before making the drive here, but I guess I was in a fog after talking to that nice lady. It also doesn’t help matters that I drank a huge bottle of water during the drive. Why’d I do that?
I notice a maintenance guy on a nearby path, so I waddle over to him and beg him to pretty-please unlock my bungalow door. I show him the confirmation email and my driver’s license and confess I’m probably ten seconds away from having an embarrassing accident, and thankfully, the man takes pity on me and lets me in.
Once inside my unit, I vaguely register the tropical perfection of my surroundings—elegant, island-themed décor, stunning ocean views through large windows, high ceilings, and a plumeria-scented breeze wafting through it all—as I frantically scan the place for the nearest bathroom.
The closest door turns out to be a closet, so I sprint toward the bedroom in the back, figuring an attached bathroom in there is a good bet.
Thankfully, my gamble appears to have paid off: There’s a closed door on a far wall of the bedroom, exactly where a bathroom would be. I fling it open and sigh with relief at the glorious sight of a toilet, before frantically yanking down my shorts and panties and hurling myself down.
As my bladder releases, I widen my thighs, lean back, and groan loudly, feeling supremely relieved I didn’t kick off my solo vacation by pissing down my leg in public.
“Thank you, Baby Jesus,” I mutter. “Damn, that feels good.”
My brain abruptly registers something unexpected in the small bathroom. Hot steam. It’s everywhere. Covering every inch of my face, arms, and bare legs. Before my brain processes the significance of the mist surrounding me, however, the shower curtain whips open and a dripping-wet, fully naked, tanned and fit Adonis of a man appears before me, his dark hair wet and his large, naked dick hanging low between his muscular thighs.
“Can I help you?” he asks, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
I’m not finished peeing yet, but I somehow manage to stop my stream, mostly, and bolt out of the bathroom without stopping to pull up my shorts and panties.
The good news is, by the time I’m standing safely outside in the sunshine, I’ve got myself pulled back together. The bad news, though, is that I sprinted out of the bungalow without thinking to grab my phone, purse, or anything else.
After a moment of fidgeting nervously, I try the front door, but it locked behind me. So, I cross my arms over my chest and try to wait patiently for the gorgeous man with the shockingly large dick to come out here—fully dressed this time, hopefully—to explain his presence in my reserved bungalow. I’m thinking he’s last night’s occupant who didn’t check out in time. Hopefully, he’ll come out here with his suitcase, apologize profusely for scaring me, and leave the bungalow to me. If not, if it turns out that man is here rightfully—if it turns out Brandon has, in fact, managed to cancel my reservation—I truly don’t know what I’ll do.
After a while, I knock tentatively on the door and call out, “Would you come outside, please? The door is locked and I left all my stuff in there!”
“Just a minute!” the guy shouts on the other side of the door. “I’m getting dressed!”
The thought of that hunky man getting dressed makes me remember him undressed and dripping wet. His dick hanging low. I can’t believe a total stranger was mere feet away from me, fully naked, while I was half naked and sitting on a toilet. Holy hell. The way my legs were spread, he must have seen everything there is to see between my thighs.
The whole situation should be nothing but mortifying to me, by all rights. But if I’m being honest, in addition to mortification, I’m feeling a sliver of titillation as well. That man was the hottest creature I’ve ever beheld in my life. In person, at least. And I can’t believe I saw every inch of him. The stripper at my bachelorette party in Vegas was fun, but he did absolutely nothing for me, other than making me whoop and snort with laughter. But Shower Guy? My God, my entire body feels like it’s going haywire when I visualize what I just witnessed.
A crazy thought makes me gasp out loud. What if my friends sent that hunk of a man as a gift, inspired by that raunchy thing I said at the very end of my diatribe in the church? Nah. As soon as I have the preposterous thought, I banish it. My friends knew I was simply parroting back the same raunchy words Brandon used in a text to one of the many women on his secret phone. They had to know I wasn’t serious but, instead, that I was merely trying to piss off Brandon as much as possible.