Hilde looked at me kindly, but implacably. “It may be time to ask yourself, Cassie. Do you want her in this position for her benefit, or for yours?”
I didn’t have an answer for her. It was one of a whole host of things I didn’t know, because this job didn’t get easier as you went along, like I’d expected. It actually seemed to be getting harder, which was a problem since I was already giving a hundred and fifty percent. Literally.
I turned around and went back to bed.
Chapter Seven
A callused hand dragged slowly up my thigh, the rough patches catching here and there on the smoothness of my skin. I stretched and pressed back against a column of heat, with all the fascinating contrasts of hard and soft that indicated a male body. A familiar one.
Like the hand, which found its way to my stomach, and started teasing circles around my belly button. I squirmed, feeling a little ticklish, and it moved up to grip the softness of a breast. I heard my breath intake, and then release on a sigh as the warm palm engulfed me, somehow sending both calm and excitement coursing through my body. It squeezed and released, squeezed and released, before beginning to tease the tender nipple into hardness.
The exhale was more of a moan that time, and I felt myself try to press further forward into that touch, while the rest of my body was still pushing the other way. It felt awkward and strange, until the grip suddenly tightened, and I was pulled back hard. Sandwiching me between the strong hand and arm in front and the firm body in back, and ripping another sound out of me.
Some part of me knew that I was sleeping, that this wasn’t real. But it was being overruled by the parts of me that didn’t care. Which was most of them. Particularly when that same hand smoothed down my stomach agai
n, but didn’t stop there this time. It slid roughly over ribs and hipbones, to the smooth skin between my thighs, following the crease of my leg to even more tender parts below.
And then clenched in possession.
I gasped, and pressed backward, harder this time, and felt part of him jump in response.
I tried to turn to face him, wanting to kiss, to touch, but he wouldn’t let me. Instead, he pushed my legs farther apart and began to pleasure me with talented, wicked fingers. He knew exactly how to touch me, how to shudder my limbs and shake my body, how to send golden warmth streaming down every vein. Until I squirmed and writhed and cried out, half in desperation, and half in release, and barely noticed him turning me onto my stomach.
Rough hands smoothed over my back, down to the crease of my buttocks and back up again. Then they did it again, slowly, firmly, until I felt like I was melting into the bed. Like my bones had liquified, and I was no longer a woman at all but just a mass of pure sensation. I didn’t know how that was possible from a simple massage, but right then, I didn’t care. I sighed, and snuggled down, releasing all of the day’s tension in a shuddering sigh.
God, yes, that was exactly what I—
A door slammed open, jarring me awake.
I sat up, staring at the sunlight streaming through my balcony windows, because for once the curtains were back and fully open. And then I grabbed my alarm clock, which had definitely not gone off, and quickly understood why. It wasn’t plugged in.
My sleep fuzzed brain just looked at the dangling chord for a moment, uncomprehending.
And then I noticed Tami approaching the bed, holding a tray.
It was the heavy silver kind that they mostly don’t make anymore, because who wants to waste precious metal on embossed pomegranates and clusters of silver grapes? But Tami had a serious love for the antique dishes left behind by the penthouse’s previous occupant, and used them all the time, despite the fact that they weighed a ton and couldn’t be put in a dishwasher.
“W-what happened?” I asked, trying to get my sleep fuzzed brain to concentrate on something other than the freaking dishes.
“Nothing. You slept in.”
She put the tray down on my bedside table, and then walked off to grab a chair.
As usual, she was looking like a cross between an African supermodel and an Egyptian queen, with a thousand tiny braids that clacked together when she moved, because there were tiny glass beads on the ends. They complemented the softly draped top she was wearing, in a fresh summer green, and wide legged, white pants. She had gold eyeshadow on today, probably to coordinate with her strappy gold sandals.
She looked fresh faced and pulled together, with her makeup newly done and her eyes bright and sharp, because morning was her favorite time of day. Although I wasn’t sure how much morning was left, judging by the angle of the rays streaming in. And, damn it, I’d overslept!
I threw back the covers and started to get up, only to have an arm thrown in my way. “Not a chance. And if you shift on me, I swear to you, I will make your life hell.”
I slowly sank back against the pillow.
“There, isn’t that nicer?” Tami asked, sitting on her chair and picking up a plate. “Now, is this one of those days when you like hash browns or hate them?”
“I always like hash browns,” I said confused.
“That’s such a lie.” She doled out some potatoes from a silver serving dish. And then piled on a couple of sunny side up eggs, enough bacon for a lumberjack, and three pieces of heavily buttered toast.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I asked, when she slid the mountain of food in front of me.