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I lay stiff as a board beside him, the day’s events panning through my mind like a slideshow. How he defended me, the first kiss, the second kiss, the way we argued. Just thinking about it has me wet, and I turn over onto my side, my back to him.
I have to get over this. It’s Taylor.
Taylor who arrested my brother. Taylor who made it his life’s mission to tease me and mess with me. Taylor who is running for sheriff, for fuck’s sake. We’re a match made in hell. It could never work. Complete opposites. He cares what people think about him, I don’t.
I try to keep my breathing even, but the scent of his cologne, that spicy smokey goodness, is delicious. And he’s right there. Right next to me. In bed.
Oh God.
Jesse moves, and my eyes widen. I fixate on the wall, the curtains against it, the sliver of moonlight that pierces the gap in them.
Say something, Taylor.
But he doesn’t say a word. His breathing evens out, and I relax a little. Okay, so he’s asleep. The crazy thoughts can calm the hell down because there’s no shot that anything can happen.
I turn onto my back and stare at the ceiling. My heart rate refuses to slow.
His hands on my body, my breasts, him between my legs, pressing into me, grinding. Biting his lip.
I slide my hands over my breasts, sure that he’s finally asleep, and ashamed of myself for wanting him this bad. Am I going to resort to this? I’m all about women being the sexual goddesses they are meant to be, but this is crossing a boundary.
I dip my hand below the waistband of my panties, my fingers brushing over sensitive skin, and I inhale sharply.
“Keep doing that,” Jesse says, voice rasping with restrained desire, “and I’m going to consummate this fake marriage right now. Wife.”
I snap my arms to my sides, my cheeks hot as hell.
I turn my head and find Jesse on his side, his eyes open, reflecting the moonlight, and focused on me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks. “The only person who’s going to make you come while you’re in this bed is me.”
My skin prickles.
“We have rules, remember?”
“Rules that we won’t break,” he murmurs. “Like I said, the only person who’s going to make you come in this bed is me, so if you’re in need, you should go sit in that armchair in the corner like a good girl.”
My breath hitches.
Is he serious?
“You need to come, Angel,” he murmurs. “If I’m not allowed to do it, then you’re going to do it yourself.” He sits up in bed. “I won’t fucking touch you unless you beg me for it. Take off your shorts and go sit in the armchair.”
The command is throaty and filled with lust.
I get out of bed and slip off my shorts. Part of me wants to punish him too. If I have to be this horny for him, then he’s going to feel the same way about me.
On the way over to the armchair, I open the curtains so that moonlight slices through the room. So that he’ll see enough.
I sit down in the armchair.
“Open your legs. Show me that pretty pussy, Angel.”
“Taylor.”
“Call me Jesse. Or call me your husband.”
“Baby,” I say.
