UNEDITED
Between his semi-committed addiction to smoking and his role as CEO of Elemental Coffee, Cassian Russell has spent the majority of his life running one of the most popular coffee shops on the Island with his best friend, Jake Swift. After a...
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Penelope
Saturday rolls around and, of course, my schedule is packed. At seven A.M., I get a call from Patrick saying there's an issue with one of the pipes. I have to wake Cassian up and drag him out of bed—I literally have to drag him out of bed. It's difficult and my muscles are sore, but it seems to do the trick. He sits up and screams at me for a good thirty seconds before climbing to his feet and trudging to the bathroom. He slams the door so hard the mirror in the hallway shakes. The sound of running water follows.
I roll my eyes and slam my fist against the bathroom door. "Quit being a dick, Cassian!"
"Then don't wake me up at such an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning, Pen!" he shouts back. I hear him turn off the tap. And then there's nothing.
Nothing.
I knock my forehead against the door and sigh. He's the man who will fall asleep anywhere. I bet he's sleeping in the bathtub. At this rate, we're going to be late. We can't make Patrick wait longer than half an hour.
"Cassian!" I shout, slamming the heel of my hand against the door. "Get your ass moving! We're business partners and our obligation is to oversee this project together. So pick your mopey ass up and get dressed."
When there's no response, I pluck a bobby pin from my hair and prepare to unlock the door. "What a child," I murmur, turning the bobby pin. "For the love of God, I'm going to have to dress him and brush his teeth and freaking spoon-feed him. If I had known a shitty date would make him so temperamental, I would have sabotaged it."
The lock clicks, and I shove the door open. Clothes and towels are scattered across the tile, as are Cassian's sandals from our trip to the beach yesterday. He went swimming and tried to coax me into the water, but I refused. Being eaten by a lake monster isn't how I want to die. As my gaze follows the trail of dirty laundry, damp towels, and shoes, I wonder why men treat bathrooms as a pigpen. I can't handle a splatter of toothpaste spit on my mirror, let alone clothes on the floor or dirty shoes.
When I lay my eyes on the man standing in front of the sink, a silent gasp escapes my lips.
"Oh my God!" I exclaim, covering my eyes. I spread my fingers apart so I can peek through. "You're naked!" I'm totally checking him out, but I don't care. How can I not take this opportunity? His naked ass is cute.
He turns around and leans against the counter, cupping his junk in his hand. There's a sardonic grin on his face. "Hey, Pen. I'd love some help to get dressed. My boxers are over there." He jerks his head to the walk-in closet. "If you want to spoon-feed me, I'd prefer applesauce. Pureed veggies aren't really my thing. As for the fuck-up date..." He trails off and runs one hand through his hair, giving me an optimal view of his sex lines and brown skin. "Next time I try to go on one, whack me over the head with a broom, okay?"
I open my mouth. Close it. His hand isn't covering everything. My mouth turns dry at the sight of his package. Now, I'm not one to judge a man by the size of his penis, but holy fuck. I clench my stomach muscles and take a deep breath, willing away the sudden longing between my thighs. My palms are clammy. He's the actor of every woman's dirtiest sex fantasy.
