Page 85 of Wicked Dreams

No.

Well, except for when I woke up with his head between my legs… that was nice.

Nice. I just described waking up tothat, and the subsequential orgasm, asnice.

I’m losing it.

He hops off the bed and sheds his clothes. Sweatshirt, t-shirt, jeans. Even his socks come off. He pulls back the edge of my comforter and slides underneath clad only in his boxers.

“What are you doing?” I shift to give him room… although I’m not really sure I want him to settle in. I mean, Lenora and Robert are right down the hall.

He moves down so we’re face-to-face. He puts his elbow on my pillow, propping up his head. “I was thinking about something after I dropped you off. You never apologized.”

I eye him. “Why would I apologize?”

“For going into my guest house without permission.”

I rise up on my elbow, too, narrowing my eyes. “Excuse me, Mr. High and Mighty?—”

His free hand shoots out, grabbing my throat and forcing me flat on my back. He leans over me, the picture of calm. “Do not test me.”

“It wasmy?—”

His fingers tighten, and I automatically stop talking.

Clearly, when I said I was losing it, I should’ve saidwewere losing it. He’s lost his fucking marbles, too, judging by his dark expression. He stares down at me with a promise—or threat—to unleash all his demons on me.

All I need to do is continue down the denial road.

“I’m sorry,” I squeak.

He loosens his hold, but his face is still a calm mask. I don’t trust it one bit.

His hand moves over my collarbone and down the center of my chest. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” I breathe. “What kind of girls have you been hanging out with who sleep in underwire?”

His finger brushes over one of my nipples, and it pebbles under his touch. My lips part, but the question of where he’s going dies on my lips when he smirks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I grab his wrist, stopping his hand from moving farther south. “I would, actually.”

His gaze crashes into mine. “Currently? None.”

“None,” I repeat. “No one. Not a single girl?”

He goes for the hem of my shirt. I try to fight him, but suddenly he’s hovering over me. He takes my arms and holds them above my head.

“Don’t move,” he orders.

My breath comes in sharp pants. “W-what are you going to?—”

“Quiet, baby. It’s just you, okay?”

I press my lips together.

His fingers return to the hem of my nightshirt. He raises it slowly, revealing my stomach, my rib cage, my breasts. He massages one breast in his hand, fingers rolling and pinching my nipple. It’s aching pain and pleasure. My back arches off the bed. He pushes me down again. His palm burns up against my stomach.

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