Page 105 of One Night with Number Nineteen

Her eyes lock with mine, and her mouth hitches up, and then she’s the one leading me…this time up the stairs, down the hall, and into her bedroom.

I’ve haven’t been inside this room since that first night, and now that’s she’s moved in, I discover…

It’s her, just not the her of her office.

There’s no chaos here. No piles of notebooks threatening to topple over, no papers scattered around, no pads of sticky notes covered with her writing tucked into every corner of her desk.

Rather, it’s neat and organized and feminine—from the soft pink on her walls to the floral paisley pattern on her bedspread to the mirrored dresser tucked into one corner. The door to the balcony is slightly ajar, as though to let in some fresh air. Books are stacked on most of the surfaces, along with photos, but I don’t have time to study all of them because she’s drawing me over to the bed, tugging me down to sit on the edge of the mattress. “I’m going to put some pajamas on. Do you want me to see if I can rustle up some sweats or shorts for you?”

“Nah, Pages,” I tell her. “I’ll be good.”

She smiles at me, touches my jaw.

Then she’s up and off the mattress, moving across the room, and disappearing into the closet.

The light flicks on and my mind goes more than a little crazy imagining the layers of her clothes being stripped away, her skin slowly revealed, inch-by-inch. Those hips. Those tits. That ass. The cunt⁠—

Groaning softly, I toe off my shoes, tug off my shirt, unbutton and strip off my jeans, and am just pulling my socks from my feet when I hear her footsteps signaling she’s come back into the bedroom.

I turn and⁠—

Holy fucking hell.

“I was thinking…” she says softly, running her hand along the scooped neckline of the nightie she’s put on. It’s made of plum-colored lace that lovingly cups her breasts, that caresses her curves, and is cut short, showing off miles and miles of her legs.

Christ, she’s beautiful.

“…that we could nap later,” she finishes.

I don’t hesitate.

Don’t stop to think.

I just grab her wrist, drag her to me, and…

I kiss her with every bit of longing that burns inside me.

Thirty-Two

Lainey

One second, he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress…

The next, I’m pinned to it.

“Sawyer—”

He kisses me, and this time there’s not the least bit of hesitation in it—it’s as though the leash on his control has finally snapped and I’m getting all of Sawyer, every piece and emotion and…need.

God, there’s so much need.

It calls to the well of yearning inside me, the torrent of wanting I’ve had for months.

So maybe it’s like a leash has snapped inside me too.

Moaning, tangling my tongue with his, I dive my hands into his hair and throw myself against him, pushing him to his back, climbing on top of him.

“I’ve been dreaming about this ever since that first night,” I whisper as I bend and drag my lips along his jaw. “About this body. About touching you. About feeling you inside me again.”