Page 127 of Ruthless Intent

How am I going to explain what I’m doing in here?

A low groan leaves his lips, and the sheer eroticism of the sound does something to me. My blood is burning through my veins. Heat curls through my stomach.

Watching him shouldn’t be turning me on. But it is.

Why is it? Why do I like what I’m seeing?

His movements speed up. The muscles in his neck cord as he throws his head back, and then he lets out a low moan that I feel through every nerve ending.

“Fuck … fuck.” His voice is a husky rasp, but the sound of it is enough to free me from whatever spell I’m caught in.

I spin and almost trip in my haste to run from the room.

Closing the door, I lean against it.

My heart is pounding. My mouth is drier than it was before I walked in. But I don’t care about that. What I care about is the fact that I’m turned on.

My nipples are so hard they’re hurting, and I’m pretty sure my panties are soaked.

I close my eyes.

Big mistake.

All I can see is Zain, wet from the shower, face taut with pleasure while he makes himself come.

Did he see me?

My heart speeds up even more at the thought.

No, he can’t have. He’d have said something or come after me.

But what if he did? What if he saw me, and he’s just waiting for me to lower my guard?

I shake my head.

Get back in bed. Pretend to be asleep.

I hurry across the room and dive beneath the sheets.

But I can’t stop thinking about how he looked, about what he was doing, about the tattoo on his back. My hand drifts down, over my breasts, down my stomach and beneath the waistband of my pants.

This is wrong. I shouldn’t be thinking about him.

My fingers dip beneath my panties.

I shouldn’t be this wet. Zain has done nothing but torture me since he forced his way into my life.

My hips arch up at the first stroke of my fingers over my clit.

It’s wrong.

My nerves are strung tight.

What if he saw me?

My nerves wind tighter.

What if he’s watching me now, the same way I watched him?

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