Page 58 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

“Keep that smart mouth shut while I make you come…”

I bury my face in the pillow and let out a wail.

I mean, come on. Dirty talk has never really been my thing with other guys, but clearly, they’ve been doing it all wrong, because Duke’s low, possessive growl got me hotter than I’ve ever been in my life before.

And I’m still burning up.

I want more.

I grab my phone off the nightstand, breathing hard. I could text him right now, a casual little 2 a.m. U up? message and a flirty photo that would bring him running to my door to pick up right where we left off…

Except, this is Duke, I realize with a groan. He’s stubborn. Infuriatingly unaffected by my charms. The usual rules of seduction don’t apply with him. I bet he’s not even awake right now. Nope, he’s probably sleeping the sound, peaceful slumber of a man who doesn’t jump to anyone’s command.

Which of course, is even more sexy.

Damn him.

I spend the rest of the night twisting naked in my sheets, until the morning light breaks through the window, and I give into temptation and reach beneath the covers to touch myself. Again.

“You’re a work of art…”

My fingers move faster as I lose myself replaying every dirty, delicious moment. And god, there are plenty to pick from. The way he touched me… the ravenous passion in his eyes…

His world-class, A-list, mind-blowingly filthy mouth.

My own expert fingers are still nowhere near as good as the feel of his, but I still come, moaning out loud with the rush of release.

God. Between Duke and this heatwave, I’m going to need a cold shower morning, noon, and night. But just as I’m about to go rinse off, I hear the sound of the gate swing open, and then a moment later, there’s a knock at the cottage door.

I pause. The paparazzi don’t knock, and besides, they’ve given me some breathing room now that we’re feeding them a steady supply of official photo-ops. Why spend hours loitering outside the cottage with no coffee or bathrooms when they can just wait in comfort for Quinn’s not-so-anonymous call?

No, it’s not them. So who’s at my door at seven in the morning?

Duke.

My pulse kicks. Maybe he was up all night thinking about me, too. Maybe he couldn’t wait to see me, and had to drive straight over…

There’s another knock.

I tumble out of bed and grab the nearest robe before rushing downstairs. “Just a minute!” I call, frantically checking my reflection in the hall mirror. I look messy and flushed, with my cheeks bright red and my hair in a wild tangle like I just got dragged backwards through a hedge.

Like I just orgasmed moaning his name.

But hey, maybe that’s not a bad thing.

I fling open the door with a seductive smile. “I was hoping you’d come….”

My words die in my throat, because it’s not Duke. Nope, standing on my doorstep, looking casual and put-together, is the last person I ever expected to see.

It’s the director, Madeline Marrone.

Shit.

“Hi!” I blurt, yanking my robe tighter and patting at my hair. “I… umm… what are you doing here? Did we have a meeting scheduled, or…?” I gulp, wishing to god I had some warning.

Or, you know, real clothes on.

I’m going to kill Max.

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