“Fucking hell,” I mutter, frozen to the spot.

The guy in front of me is standing in front of a mirror, his naked ass on full display.

His back is rippled with muscles; his chest is broad, and even from my sideways position in the doorway, I can see the well-defined six-pack beneath the taut skin.

My gaze skims over his broad biceps and lingers on the tattoo on the back of his neck. It looks like a snake engrossed in a battle with a lion. It’s powerful and fascinating in a scary kind of way. As though he’s one or the other and fighting his demons that are about to come to life.

His back is sexy as hell, but I think the most beautiful part of him is his ass. It looks like it’s been carved out of marble.

Oh, wait.

My eyes widen and my jaw drops open as I realize what he’s doing.

His hand is on his dick. There is no denying it. You can see his hard-on, the veins on his shaft, the slow movement as his hand goes back and forth.

Oh. My. God.

He’s jerking off, his face drawn in concentration. The shock at the picture before me is short but intense.

But there’s more than shock.

A wave of heat travels down my abdomen and settles between my legs. I can feel myself vibrating down there, my lady parts clenching and unclenching with sudden want.

It’s not like I haven’t seen a dick before. It’s the mixture of it all—his dark hair, muscular body, and the fact that he seems to be enjoying himself way too much—that’s turning my insides into jelly, and I don’t like it one bit.

He must not have heard me because he neither turns his head, nor does he stop stroking himself.

“Jesus. Get a frigging room,” I call out, my voice a little too breathy.

His hand freezes in its movement. He turns around and shoots me an unfazed smile. “I’m taking care of basic needs here, if you don’t mind.”

His gaze meets mine, and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes, a dark shade of brown, are hooded, giving me the kind of bedroom look that screams he’s not in the least ashamed of having been found jerking off.

For a second, I think I see surprise on his face, but the fleeting impression is gone before I can fully grasp it.

His brows shoot up as his eyes pierce through me, shimmering with challenge. “Want to join in, or why else are you still staring?”

Heat rushes to my face.

Jerk.

“Why would you think I’d—” My voice breaks as utter humiliation and blinding rage render me speechless.

I peer from his eyes to his cock. His hand is still wrapped around it. Instead of deflating, I think it’s just gotten even bigger, the veins pronounced, the crown glimmering with moisture.

The temperature’s just increased tenfold.

Either that, or a complete stranger has just made me lose it.

Peeling my gaze away from him, albeit unwillingly, I cover my eyes with my hand to block the image of his glorious cock. “Who says something like that to a stranger?”

His raucous laughter rings behind me as I slam the door shut and press my back against it, taking slow, labored breaths.

Okay, Sullivan.

This so did not happen.

“Jesus.” I rub my eyes hard, as though to wipe away the image of his naked body, but that’s not possible.

The harder I try, the clearer I can see his huge dick in his hand. Who has a dick like that? Thick, engorged, and oh, so wet.

The slick sound of his hand moving up and down rings in my ears. Was it as loud before? Or has he just resumed his action?

Pressing my ear against the door, I hold my breath and think I can hear his hard breathing.

God, those low, deep moans are sexy.

I move back down the hall, focused on getting away as fast as possible, and open another door by accident.

It’s a bedroom with clothes scattered across the bed.

Men’s clothes.

Men’s shoes litter the floor.

The scent of aftershave lingers in the air.

“Changed your mind after all?” The voice is deep and husky. For a moment, I’m immobilized as he continues, “I think bedrooms are a bit overrated, but what the hell? If that’s your thing, I’m up for it.”

It’s the same guy.

I turn to face him, my gaze strangely drawn south, and find that a thin towel is wrapped around his hips, covering his junk.

I let out an exasperated snort.

It’s really tiny. The towel, that is.

Not his tool.

That one’s about the biggest I’ve ever seen, counting TV and Internet pop-ups.

I don’t want to gawk, and yet I find my gaze glued to the clearly defined bulge beneath that towel.

In the bright light spilling in through the large bay windows, I can see everything. There’s no denying he still has a raging erection, as though pleasuring himself wasn’t nearly enough to still his sexual appetite.

“Seriously?” I ask, pointing to the towel. “Can’t you put something on?” My voice sounds strangled, breathy, which I attribute to the fact that I’m highly uncomfortable standing in front of a hot guy built like a Greek god and hung like a donkey.

“What’s so important that you had to interrupt?”

“I interrupted?” My jaw drops, and white hot flashes of anger begin to cloud my vision. “Oh, you’re talking about your date with your right hand. Sorry about that.” I smirk. “What are you doing here?”

His brows shoot up. “Here?”

“Yes, here, in my apartment.”

Ignoring my question, he squeezes past me, his erection coming dangerously close to my abdomen. From up close, he smells of sandalwood and raw manliness.

My breath catches in my throat.

It takes all my willpower not to jump a few steps back to put some distance between us.

He retrieves another white towel from his suitcase and wipes his face with it.

Every fiber of my body is heating up at the sight of his naked back. Bruce is tall and a bit skinny. This guy is built like a boxer: tall with broad shoulders and hard muscles in places I didn’t know existed.

As he turns to regard me, I notice the color of his eyes.

Deep brown and broody with long, dark lashes.

They’re the sort of eyes that make you feel like you’re the only woman in his world.

It’s a pity I didn’t get the chance to watch him finish the act earlier.

Why would I think something like that?

I can feel my cheeks burning. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that my face has just turned a similar shade to our counselor’s hair color.

The guy steps in front of me, eyeing me with curiosity. He’s standing too close for comfort, sucking the oxygen right out of the air. “What makes you think this is your apartment?” His voice is low and nonchalant, as though we’re sitting in a café engaged in small talk about the weather. No sign of nervousness at all that he’s just exposed himself to a stranger.

“The form in my folder says so.”

“The form?” The corners of his lips twitch. “What does it say?”

“2B.” I scan the room again, suddenly uncertain. “What apartment is this?”

“2B.” He frowns, but for some reason I think I see amusement in his eyes. “Clearly a mistake.”

“No doubt.” I stare him down. “Why don’t you start packing up again? Because I’m pretty sure this is my place.”

“Is that so?” He crosses his arms over his imposing chest. I try not to stare at his bulging biceps, but it’s hard. “I’m not leaving.”

My anger flares. “This is my apartment. You’ve made a mistake.”

“I assure you I haven’t. I’ve been here since this morning. Even had a counselor stop by to ensure I was comfortable.” His lips twitch again. I don’t know why his statement sounds dirty, but this isn’t the time to probe.

My eyes widen and my legs begin to shake just a little bit. “Are you saying you’re staying here?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” He cocks his head to the side. “I assume you’re the love addict who’s going to be my roommate? My counselor told me a little bit about you.”

Love addict?

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

In all honesty, what could I possibly reply?

The fact that he’s just called me a love addict is too much.

Turning around, I bolt down the hallway as quickly as I can, then grab my luggage and head for the elevator.

It has to be a mistake.

It has to be a fatal mistake. There’s no way anyone would shack me up with a guy.

I can’t live with a guy, not even for therapy purposes.