Damn him.
But isn’t it better than sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself because you’re alone?
All day, her sex had felt tingly and slightly tender. That, in combination with her uncontrollable thoughts about what he’d done to her on that double chaise lounge, made her feel constantly on the sharp edge of arousal and annoyance. Unfortunately, not even her recollection of his coldness could dampen her body’s reaction.
Admitting defeat, she tossed the story and her edits onto a patio table. Without telling herself to do it, she pressed her pelvis down against the wrought iron seat, getting pressure on her sensitive sex. When she realized she was trying to figure out just how private her deck was from her neighbors, she stood abruptly.
Great. The guy acts like a complete jerk, and yet you were considering masturbating outside while you fantasize about him. You are such a loser.
She gathered up the story and headed inside, now highly aware of the tension at her sex and the fact that her cheeks were hot. Once she was inside, she drew the blinds. Her heartbeat began to throb in her ears in anticipation. Okay, so she wasn’t going to do it in potential view of a nosy neighbor. But she was going to do it.
To make matters worse, it wasn’t the first time she’d masturbated today, either.
She lay down on the couch and lifted her skirt to her waist. When her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, she thought of his fingers doing the same last night, how he’d caressed the sensitive skin above her mons and then slid those long, masterful fingers between her labia. It’d felt so good. How did he do it, touch her more knowingly than she even touched herself?
And later, how he’d asked her permission to hold her wrists while he fucked her . . . how she’d granted it. It’d excited her, knowing that he held her at his mercy, that she had to take him.
And he’d been a hell of a lot to take.
God, yes. No matter what a jerk he’d been, this was better than dwelling on the loneliness.
She recalled watching him put the condom on his rigid erection, the shape and the color of the flaring, smooth cockhead. He was so beautiful. She craved him, even now. Before he’d behaved so coldly in the aftermath, she had a vague fantasy about him binding her with cuffs or some kind of ties. Even so, it wasn’t really the idea of restraints themselves that excited her. It was his intense focus on her, how he became aroused when she was helpless to resist him. Not that he’d needed to be concerned about her resisting him. She’d been a goner in that department, hands restrained or not.
He’d warned her that he was going to screw her hard. And he had, locking his feet on the frame of the lounge and taking her without mercy. It’d been so good. So hot. She’d come without expecting to, without the usual rise of tension and the slow burn. She’d combusted because that was the only thing you could do around Jacob’s pounding cock.
She moaned, her hand moving faster between her thighs. She’d be coming again soon. Her excitement at the vivid memories and the buildup of tension over the past several hours was too much.
A gasp popped out of her throat. She yanked her hand from her underwear, sitting partially up, shocked by a brisk knock on her patio door. Shit. Who the hell was it? She considered just not answering, but realized it might be a neighbor. Maybe one of them really had seen her on the patio just now and had come over to greet her. She was still the new girl on the block, and had met only a few of her neighbors so far.
Flustered, she stood and smoothed down her skirt. “Just a second,” she called, hurrying to her kitchen where she hastily washed her hands. A moment later, she lifted a blind and peered out. She let it shut with a snap.
Jacob stood on her terrace.
She remained unmoving for a second, her breath stuck in her lungs. Finally, she drew up the blinds with a jerking motion and opened the door.
For a few strained seconds, they just stared at each other.
“What are you doing here?” she managed eventually.
His gaze flickered across her face. She clenched her teeth. Was she flushed? Her cheeks certainly felt warm.
“I was out for a walk,” he said slowly. “Is this a bad time?”
“No. I was just doing the dinner dishes.”
“I didn’t see anyone in the kitchen. I thought maybe you weren’t here.” He noticed her stunned, questioning glance. He pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. It’s just that you walk past the kitchen window coming from the beach, and there weren’t any lights on in there.”
Heat redoubled in her cheeks at being caught in a lie.
“What do you want?” she repeated.
“I wanted to talk to you. About last night.”
She glanced aside, shielding her discomfort. He looked good tonight. As usual. The voice in her head sounded bitter. She resented the way he evoked this attraction in her with so little apparent effort on his part. He was dressed casually in cargo shorts, running shoes, and a heather gray sports shirt. His clothing seemed to emphasize all the things she was trying to forget, yet had just been remembering with such clar
ity on the couch seconds ago: his fascinating eyes, his lean torso, his muscular shoulders and chest . . . those long, strong legs that had powered his cock inside her with such eye-crossing results . . .
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she replied, her voice sounding hoarse. She cleared her throat. “Maybe we ought to just let things lie.”