Page 78 of Meant for Mayhem

Not just for Leena.

I wanted Shannon to look at me the way she looked at me tonight in the car—like she was starving too.

17

Of all the times I’d eavesdropped, this one was the worst.

“Fuck, Shannon,” Mikko groaned behind his closed door, and my heart practically leaped out of my chest.

The sounds I heard from the other side were enough that I knew exactly what was happening in there—the rhythmic creak of his bed, the wet slide of skin, his low, ragged breathing.

A bead of sweat dripped down between my breasts where I stood in the hallway, unable to move.

I should have felt guilty.

Mortified, even.

So what did it say about me that I wasn’t any of those things?

No, all I could feel was turned on because my husband had gotten off with my name on his lips.

My hands shook as I slowly backed down the hall toward my room. I slipped inside and eased the door shut, heart hammering in my chest. My tablet was still open to the romance novel I’d started yesterday, the hero about to ravish a blushing virgin. I was halfway through a filthy scene when Mikko had fled the living room with the outline of his dick practically etched into his sweats.

Now the book felt laughably tame.

I climbed onto my bed fully clothed, and my mind went to him—sweaty, spent, cum on his stomach after stroking himself to thoughts of me. Another wave of heat went to my core, and I pressed my palm between my legs over my leggings to ease the ache. But it wasn’t enough.

Before I could think better of it, I shoved the fabric down impatiently, kicking them off along with my underwear, and slid two fingers through my soaked folds. I was embarrassingly wet, all from listening to him jerk off.

A soft whimper escaped me as I circled my clit, imagining what would have happened if I’d pushed his door open. Climbed onto his bed. Replaced his hand with mine.

I pictured those big hands gripping my hips and pulling me down onto him while he groaned my name again, this time against my throat.

“Oh fuck,” I breathed.

My fingers moved faster, dipping inside, then back up to my swollen clit, but it still wasn’t enough. My other hand slipped under my hoodie to pinch a nipple, the sharp spark of pleasure making my back arch.

The apartment was quiet now. He’d finished, but I couldn’t stop. I kept going, chasing the high, thighs trembling as I got closer and closer⁠—

Then I froze.

What the hell was I doing?

This wasn’t some fantasy man in a book.

This was Mikko.

Yes, he was my husband on paper, but we had rules. Boundaries. A careful co-parenting arrangement that didn’t include me getting myself off to thoughts of him.

Even thinking that statement confused my brain, not sure where any of this fell inside this agreement. Falling for my husband wasn’t part of the deal.

I pulled my hand away, chest heaving, body screaming in protest. My clit throbbed angrily, denied, but I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball, pressing my thighs together like that might soothe the ache.

Of course, it didn’t.

Sleep didn’t come. I lay there for hours, replaying every second: the way he’d looked at me on the couch, the thick ridge in his sweats, the desperate groan of my name through the wall. The easy laughter in the car. The way he’d watched me with Leena like we were a family.

My body stayed wound up, humming with unmet need, especially when every time I closed my eyes I saw him.