Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,36

long kiss, his mouth lingering as he took his time on the act. “You blow away every fantasy and prior experience I’ve ever had. It’s kind of annoying, actually.” He tucked his half-stiff cock back into his pants and left them unzipped.

“Oh really?” I teased, puffing up in pride as I pulled my top back over my breasts.

“Yeah. I’ll be ruined if you ever leave me.”

As if I ever could or would. I frowned. “I’d never leave you.” I pulled him down for another kiss and looped my arms around his neck. “You’re mine forever.”

“In poorness and in wealth?” He smiled, but I saw the bit of fear in his eyes. We were the same, he and I. Both clinging to each other, both terrified of rejection. When had we lost our swagger? Was it the normal evolution out of youth? He lifted me to my feet and I pressed a deeper, longer kiss onto his mouth.

“Forever,” I repeated. “In everything.”

He pulled me against his chest and I risked a glance out to the balcony, relieved to see that it was empty, no shadowy outline privy to this private moment.

14

I couldn’t sleep. It was almost five in the morning Vegas time, eight in the morning back in Miami, and my mind would not stop spinning. Next to me, Chelsea—despite her assurances to the contrary—snored like a congested walrus. I rolled to my right side and tried to think of something—anything—other than Aaron standing at the window, watching us have sex.

My fantasies didn’t use to be a problem. They sprung to force after I began fertility treatments, which is odd, since low libido had been one of dozens of the side effects that Dr. Rowe listed off. Maybe that was further proof that my body was rejecting the therapy, just like it rejected Easton’s sperm and rejected my hopes for a family.

The digital display on the bedside clock flipped a minute higher, and I felt my anxiety spike with the change. What if I couldn’t fall asleep at all? What if the men came in here at ten, ready for breakfast, and I was still red-eyed and wide-awake, scarred with the visual of what Aaron had seen?

Hadn’t just seen, I reminded myself. Watched. He could have left. He could have realized that we were about to have sex and moved down on the balcony, out of sight. He could have given us our privacy but he didn’t.

Why?

Maybe it was the curiosity of human nature. After all, I’d glanced in lit windows at night while walking Wayland. As he did his business, I’d watched the McDaniels argue in their kitchen, captivated by the secret glimpse into their lives. There had been something thrilling about seeing the personal moment between them when all pretenses were gone, shields down, the raw footage uncensored and unfiltered. Was this any different?

The truth was, if our neighbors hadn’t been arguing—if Mr. McDaniel had instead been ripping open her blouse and bending her over their kitchen counter—I wouldn’t have walked away. I would have stayed. I would have stood there, incredulous at what I was seeing, and stared. Maybe it would have turned me on. Maybe I would have wanted to join in.

Or maybe I was forcing my own desires into hypothetical Aaron’s head because the major, major issue was that I had liked him watching. I had wanted to turn him on. I had wanted, and even expected, to have him open the balcony door and join in.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. In the darkness of the room, I felt my fantasies stir. Beckoning. Seductive. Stronger. Weighted with actual possibility.

I pinned my eyes shut and focused on my breathing. Counting to one thousand, I imagined each number floating above my head, its digits dissolving in the darkness and replaced by the next. I fought, tooth and nail, against the images that slithered into my thoughts, stroked against my skin, pulsed inside my head.

Aaron beneath me, his mouth on my breast, his gaze on mine.

Easton behind me, my hair knotted in his grip, his finger tight in my ass.

Both of them, encouraging me. Worshipping me. Taking turns on me.

It couldn’t happen. It was too close to real life. It was a fantasy that should have stayed in its place, behind the current of impossibility but there—in the City of Sin—I felt it bloom to life.

“I swear, I’d do filthy things to that waiter for a waffle right now.” Chelsea leaned her head against