Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88613 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88613 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
A whoosh of wind alerted me to the basilisk arriving. The huge green snake appeared in the tunnel, a white-robed Marvel sitting on a seat behind its head, making sure the scaly beast didn’t decide to go rogue.
The basilisk sucked in a breath and let it hiss out again, compressing down so that the commuters could step on its back and sit down on the chairs strapped around it. The light red chairs denoted this was the Eastern Line, which would take me to my office. I settled in and pulled out my phone, trying to distract myself as the snake started to slither down the tunnel. People were all around me, talking with each other and on their phones and reading newspapers. The rush of wind was lessened by an enchantment from the Marvel conducting the basilisk. I honestly wouldn’t mind a little white noise, though, to help clear the thoughts. Especially when those thoughts weren’t even focused on my job but instead on the man with the ocean eyes who appeared to be determined to work with me.
I tried ignoring him. Tried pushing him out of my thoughts.
I couldn’t.
His glowing smile, his blue eyes, his powerful chest, those thick thighs.
None of it was easy to ignore. I kept thinking about him the entire snake-way ride, and it didn’t stop when I got into my car either.
The thoughts only grew more intense, more uncontrolled. I pictured how easily my body would fit against his, how comfortable he’d feel cuddling in bed with. Soon, the fantasies turned to more than just cuddling. I started getting hard imagining how Maddox would feel holding me naked, his heavy cock fitting perfectly against my ass.
Those steamy fantasies kept me company in the stop-and-go traffic, getting me rock hard and keeping me that way by the time I pulled into my parking spot at my apartment building in Los Feliz.
I lived in a shitty part of the Harmony District, crammed with three-story apartment buildings and minimal parking spaces, with the only shops within walking distance being laundromats and weed dispensaries. I didn’t mind either since our building didn’t have a washer or dryer, and I did enjoy the occasional blunt, but I still would have liked a nice coffee shop or bookstore down the block.
I parked my car and adjusted myself so that I wouldn’t get out with a full tent in my shorts. I cracked my door open and squeezed myself out, the parking spot I had been assigned being the one sandwiched between the fence and a huge pickup truck owned by my downstairs neighbor, a lesbian horse shifter with the best fucking pumpkin pies I’d ever tasted.
But damn did I wish she’d bought a smaller car.
I climbed up the creaking steps to my apartment. I could hear Trisha chatting with her girlfriend in the living room, even with the loud sound of some political news show blaring through the door. Not only did Trish like her pickup trucks, but she also liked to project her voice.
I pulled out my keys and unlocked my door, pushing it open.
But it didn’t move. Shit.
My front door was jammed again. I rolled my eyes and gave it a shoulder shove, the thin wood creaking but the door still not budging. Martha, the neighbor directly across from me, must have been cooking rabbit stew again, the intolerable scent wafting through the tiny space and mixing with the musk rising up from the thousand-year-old green rug outside her door that cried out for a deep cleaning.
Please. Just. Fucking. Open.
I wasn’t exactly a big guy. Definitely not as big as a certain ice dragon I happened to know, but damn, I couldn’t even open this plywood piece-of-shit door? I really needed to start doing some push-ups or something.
Finally, the hinges relented, and the door swung open, stopping almost instantly on a pile of shoes left behind it. I pushed myself through the crack, kicking all the shoes over to the side, none of them my size.
“Hey, dude, didn’t think you were getting home so early today.”
It was Jared Jacks, my tiger shifter roommate, who I was pretty sure had lied to me about his employment history on the leasing application. I also didn’t think he knew how to work soap and a sponge; either that or he had a personal challenge with himself to see how many dirty dishes he could stack before they all came tumbling down.
The only good thing the guy had going for him was that he enjoyed hanging out in boxers and nothing else. And he mainly wore those plaid boxers that were scientifically proven to only be used by men slinging huge dicks.
Which Jared definitely was.
He was also definitely straight. So there was that.
“I finished up work early.” I tried to ignore the way he casually sat with his legs open, one hand down his boxers, the other on his bare chest.