Page 112 of The Pucking Wrong Man

The scent was oddly familiar, a smell that tugged at the edges of my memory. Where had I smelled that scent before—a complex blend of earthy musk and subtle spice that made me want to live in it.

One more inhale, and it hit me.

This was what Camden smelled like.

A whisper of a moan escaped my lips as I breathed him in.

Was this his laundry detergent that I was smelling? If so, why wasn’t every person on earth using this? I’d never smelled anything so good in my entire life. That brand was really missing out.

My hand slipped into my sleep shorts, dragging down to my core to help with the sudden spike of lust I was experiencing. My fingers grazed my clit, and I bit down on my lip hard as pleasure surged through me. I pressed down and?—

What was I doing? I was in Camden’s house...as a guest...about to make myself come because the sheets smelled like him. In any circumstance that would have been inappropriate, but especially after today.

Pull yourself together, I hissed at myself, yanking my hand out of my shorts and sitting up in bed with a sigh. I was tempted to dive back into my sheets and soak up his smell again...but that would’ve been weird.

Weirder than getting off to his laundry detergent already was.

Sliding out of bed, I padded to the door, my leg groaning with every step. A glass of water would probably cure the heat between my legs.

That and a cold shower.

I needed one of those as well.

The house was silent as I walked to the kitchen.

I was tempted to turn on a radio or something, just to block out the stillness. That would be weird, though, for me to be blasting music after midnight in someone else’s house, right? I could just see Camden coming out of his room and staring at me like I was crazy.

Filling a glass with water, I took a big gulp, praying that the chill of the liquid would cool me down.

It didn’t work.

Sighing in frustration, I decided to walk around the house for a minute. It wouldn’t help my leg, but maybe it would calm my mind.

Limping now, I made my way down the hallway where Camden’s room was. The theater room was down this way as well. Maybe I would watch a movie, that would probably distract me.

My footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor as I walked down the hallway. Passing an open door, I peeked inside and caught a glimpse of Camden’s room....and his bathroom...and his shower.

Which he was in.

Camden stood beneath the spray of water, his broad shoulders glistening with droplets as he ran a hand through his damp, dark hair.

Heat flooded my cheeks as I watched him, my pulse quickening with each passing second. It was like I was frozen in place, unable to tear my eyes away from the mesmerizing sight before me.

My gosh, why did he ever get dressed? It was a crime against humanity that he ever wore clothes. He had the kind of body meant to be worshiped.

I had the urge to fall to my knees.

Michaelangelo would have wept to have the chance to carve him into stone.

I traced every inch of his body obsessively, the heat building in my core. This was doing absolutely nothing to help in that regard.

I really needed to yank myself away, but I couldn’t seem to be able to get my legs to move.

His arm flexed as he dragged a washcloth down his chest, and then...the washcloth dropped.

Camden gripped his dick roughly, and I was entranced.

I honestly hadn’t known that they made dicks that big. It was like he was carrying a coke bottle between his legs. How did that fit in anyone?

---