Chapter 9
EMILY
Thursday evening
Seeing Sevin at his door without his shirt on is a shock.
Seeing Sevin at his door without a stitch of clothing on is a heart attack.
The thick cotton towel in his hand falls to the floor, and I can’t help but look, my gaze dropping to the neatly trimmed thatch of hair between his thighs.
He’s huge, even semi-hard, and it takes every ounce of my will to turn away, my hands shooting to my eyes as I swing my gaze in the other direction.
“Holy wow, I am so sorry.”
The words keep coming off my lips even as I hear Sevin make a grab for his towel, and I feel myself shaking, literally shaking, as he does, my hands in tremors.
“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just a little slip, that’s all,” I hear him say from the doorway.
But I can’t look back. Can’t
