Page 42 of Wicked Fortune

I let myself slip into the dark world of sensation, relishing the feel of his fingertip easing up my leg. The curve of my calf, the inside of my thigh. The soft crease between my thigh and my sex. Then along the edge of the thong, lower and lower until he’s right where I want him. Until I’m silently begging him to push the minuscule bit of material aside and slide inside me. Fingers, tongue, cock. I want them all. I want to feel every sensation he can give me.

I want him to light me on fire.

“Please,” I whisper, then break the rules by opening my eyes. I meet his, and they are so full of need and desire and lust, that I almost come right then.

He’s still fully dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, his body twisted so that he can lean over me, one hand on the mattress for support as the other gently grazes the soft area between my thigh and my sex.

I whimper. I’m so ready. And from the way he’s seated, I can see the bulge of his cock, hard behind the denim.

He’s ready, too.

“Please,” I repeat, the word filled with a lifetime of need.

He gives me a slow smile, then slides down the bed and kisses me just below my belly button. Then another, just a bit lower. And another until he reaches the band of the thong.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

“Tell me.”

He shakes his head. “More than you can imagine. And for longer than you’ve known.”

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts his hand and cups my pussy over the thong. I arch up, awash in a storm of sensation.

Then his hand is gone and he’s standing as my body tingles with anticipation. I watch, expecting him to strip. Instead, he takes the sheet and pulls it gently over me. “Get some sleep, Aria.”

I sit bolt upright, need morphing into anger. And disappointment. “Wait. What?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Anticipation, sweetheart. All the best things are worth waiting for.”

“I—” But he’s gone, the door closed behind him. I start to throw the sheet aside, but something stops me. I think about his touch. About how much I want him. About this delicious confirmation that he wants me, too.

And, yes, about the fact that it’s the middle of the night.

Next time, I think. Next time you better take me to the moon, or else …

But I don’t manage to finish the threat, because exhaustion sweeps over me, and my last thought before falling headlong into sleep is that I haven’t helped Jenny at all.

SIXTEEN

I roll over, my eyes fluttering open as golden streaks filter through the windows, warm against my skin. Still half in a dream, I blink up at the unfamiliar ceiling. The bed beneath me is too soft, the sheets too luxurious, the quiet too absolute.

My stomach clenches. Where am I?

Then I remember. Matthew.

My body tingles with the memory of his touch—and clenches in frustration at the memory of him walking away.

I really need to get out of here.

I sit up, looking around for my phone and finding it on the bedside table. I check the time, then bolt upright when I see that it’s already ten past eight. I have to get home. Get dressed. Get to work.

Then a dose of sanity kicks me in the head. Considering whose house I’m in, I probably don’t have to worry about the boss looking askance if I drift in after nine. But after the night we had (almost had?) I’m not sure I want him looking at me at all.

I shove the covers down as I move to sit on the side of the bed. I’m in only a bra and a thong, and I look frantically around, relieved to find my wrinkled dress folded over the back of a chair.

I spy a smudge of mascara on the white pillowcase, then promptly flip the pillow. If only all my problems were so easy to hide. I stand up, knowing I have to make it from here to the front door.