Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Naomi ignored that. “It’s hard when I know there’s an audience. I’ve always found it a little unnerving.” Her fingers began to move again in slow, teasing circles. “And a little arousing.”
“There’s something wrong with you,” I stated.
“Please, as if I don’t know that you too like to be watched.”
My hips shifted restlessly. “That’s beside the point.”
“Tell me something.” Naomi’s lips curled against my cheek. “Exactly how wet are you right now?”
My face heating, my eyes narrowed on her.
“If I wasn’t behaving myself out of respect for our poor Grady’s emotional and mental well-being, I bet I’d discover that you are.” Her nose touched mine as she whispered, “Don’t even try to lie, because the way your hips keep squirming will tell a very different story.”
“It’s telling the story your fingers are writing.”
She made a throaty sound in the space between my lips. “Oh, I bet my teasing got you nice and warm,” she said. Her gaze turned shrewd. “But I’m also willing to bet the fact that your thinking of magnificently endowed Hyhborn has got you soaked.”
Muscles tightened as my toes curled, but she was wrong. And she was right. While Naomi was technically behaving herself, I did . . . I did ache, but it wasn’t just me. I could feel the quickening in her breath. I felt her restless movements against my thigh. It was partly her touch, and she was also right. I was thinking of magnificently endowed Hyhborn, except I was thinking of him.
My Hyhborn lord.
CHAPTER 9
Knowing that Naomi wouldn’t enjoy her evening when she felt she had to run interference, I told her I was going to call it a night. In all honesty, I should be tired, considering what little sleep I’d gotten the night before, but a nervous sort of energy coursed through me even after I changed into a slippery soft nightgown, leaving me restless and amped-up.
I was going to blame Naomi and her idea of behaving herself for that.
As I lay down on the bed, my mind was absolutely no help, deciding to alternate between the memory of the soft, teasing touches of Naomi’s and the . . . the feel of my lord’s hard, slick skin.
Skin flushed, I rolled onto my side, pressing my thighs together. A sharp pulse echoed throughout me. I bit down on my lip as I trailed my hand over my chest. The breath I took was shaky. His voice was so clear to me, as if he were beside me, whispering in my ear. My fingers spread, grazing a hardened nipple through the cotton nightgown. Except they weren’t my fingers. They were Naomi’s. They were his.
Heat sluiced through my veins, reigniting the ache deep inside me. I sucked in a gasp as my nails dragged over the peak of my breast. I moved restlessly, hips rocking. The tips of my breasts had never been all that sensitive, but they tingled then, becoming almost painful as damp heat gathered low, between my thighs. My pulse thrummed as I shifted onto my back, closing my eyes as I slipped my hand down over my stomach and lower, drawing the nightgown up as I went. Cool air kissed the heated space between my legs, wringing a soft gasp from me. I jerked as my fingers touched the bare skin of my upper thighs, burning me— burning through me, because it was their touch I conjured up.
I spread my thighs, my breaths coming in short, shallow pants as my fingers grazed the sensitive, taut flesh. I jerked again, toes curling as I dipped my fingers lower. Pressing my head back, I moaned as I lifted my hips. I teased just as I knew Naomi would have, just as I imagined my lord would if I had stayed in that shower. It wasn’t my fingers that plunged through my slippery wetness or curled around my breast. It was Naomi’s and then his, working me until I was thrusting up. I arched, wanting more. Needing more.
Touch me.
The memory of his voice tumbled me over the edge, into ecstasy, and I was swept away by the tense but too-short waves of pleasure. I was left panting and . . . and still aching.
Still unfulfilled.
Because it hadn’t been Naomi’s touch. It hadn’t been his. It had only been my own fingers.
I dragged in a deep breath, and my eyes flew open as I caught a faint woodsy, soft scent.
His scent.
I turned my head to the settee across from the bed, where I had left the cloak he had given me. I should do something with it. Donate it. Trash it. Maybe burn it.
I sighed, my gaze flicking to the ceiling, and then I sat up, going to the bathing chamber. I splashed cool water over my face, the restlessness still there, the—
The urge returned, the one from the solarium.