parting words in my head. Frustrated, I get out of bed, grab my phone, and go to the double doors that lead to the balcony off my bedroom. I walk outside, letting the warm breeze float across my skin.
I sit on the double chaise lounge, lean back against the thick cushions, and stare up at the stars twinkling bright in the sky. I discard my cell. It’s too pretty to surf the internet, and my mind needs quiet, not more distraction.
Distraction isn’t working for me.
“I want you.”
I’m glad he left, because I have no idea what I was going to say. I wish he didn’t affect me so much. But he’s awakened an ache inside me that I can’t talk myself out of, no matter how hard I try.
My body has no interest in complying with the demands of my mind, and I’m restless.
I shift my legs, and the white silk of my nightgown slides against my skin. I spend so much time in jeans and shorts and casual clothes—unless it’s my day to be out front or I’m entertaining buyers—I like to wear pretty things to bed, even though nobody sees them.
It’s my one indulgence.
If only I could get Caden out of my mind. But I can still taste his kiss. What’s worse, I still want the press of his mouth against mine, and more. So much more.
Unbidden, my thoughts run away with me.
I remember his teeth scraping over my nipple that night in the car.
The way I rode his fingers.
How hard I came and how good it felt to just…let go.
I haven’t come since that night, even though I’ve thought about it. Somehow, I’m irrationally sure he’ll know I touched myself thinking about him.
I lick my dry lips, and the breeze picks up, stirring the persistent ache that’s only grown since the day he walked into my office. I press my fingers to my mouth, letting them play over the soft flesh there. Brushing over my lips, I try to recreate the friction of his mouth.
It’s not working, but it stirs enough of the memory to have my thighs clenching. I raise one knee, squeezing to quell the dull throb between my legs. My gaze drifts to the cabin. It’s dark, and I can barely make out the outline of the small house. There are no lights on inside.
He’s probably sleeping in his bed, peaceful and unfettered by thoughts of me.
As my vision adjusts, sharpens, the house comes into focus.
I know the layout like it’s my own: the bedroom in the back next to the kitchen, the small bathroom, the living room, all cozy and full of wood. He’d look good there, lying on the couch, long legs stretched out.
The cabin has a porch running the length of it, and a rocking chair my granddaddy made way back when sits in the corner. Instead of sleeping, Caden could be sitting there right now, the chair creaking under his weight as he rocks back and forth.
What would it be like to fuck him on that chair? Letting the rocking motion do the work for us, his cock moving inside me. His fingers were magic, but I want the real thing. I can almost picture myself kneeling in front of him, unzipping his jeans, taking him into my mouth as I look up at him. I can envision him staring down at me, those mysterious, guarded navy eyes intent on my face, watching me squirm. There’s something about him that makes me want to surrender, to lose myself in him and what he wants.
I’m not good at losing myself, and I wonder if that’s part of my attraction. Because every time he touches me, I forget everything but how he feels—like a switch that turns off my brain. It feels like something I’ve wanted for so long, I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t there.
He restrained himself that night, and I crave the sight of him unleashed. I think of him whispering about how I was a slut for him, and in this moment, I want to find out what that looks like for real.
I moan, my hips tilting a little, the soft center of me swollen and teasing.
I want to give in, let him sweep me away until I’m mindless and aching and begging. It’s a foreign idea—one I’ve heard women talk about but not one I’ve coveted myself. I like being in control. I took control that night, but it’s not what I want now.