Brandon's king-sized bed was perfectly made, untouched. But I could hear water running in the attached bathroom—he was in the shower. My eyes swept over the room, taking in the masculine décor, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. And there, tossed carelessly over a chair, was his t-shirt from earlier.
I picked it up with shaking hands and brought it to my face, inhaling deeply. His scent hit me like a drug—woodsy and masculine with a hint of sweat and something uniquely him. My knees went weak, and I sank down onto his bed, clutching the shirt to my chest.
This was insane. I was sitting on my stepfather's bed, huffing his clothes like some kind of pervert. But I couldn't stop myself. The shower was still running, which meant I had time, and the need between my thig
