Page 99 of False God

My fingers fiddle with smooth fabric, deliberating my next move. Do I sneak into his room? Do I wait until?—

My bedroom door creaks slightly as it opens.

I rise up onto my elbows, squinting in the darkness at the shadowed figure approaching my bed. Swallow—hard—when he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. The mattress lowers a little bit with the added weight.

“Do you want me to leave?”

The same question he asked earlier.

The low rumble of his baritone raises bumps on my skin. My heart is trying to beat out of my chest, and my breathing is uneven, and my skin is suddenly extra sensitive. When I lie back down, the rasp of the sheets is enough to make my nipples hard.

I recognize the feeling from the last time we were in a bedroom together.

The Charles Marlborough effect.

I tell him the same answer. The truth. “No.”

He didn’t turn on any lights this time. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, but I can’t see well enough to tell exactly what he’s doing.

I hear the rustle of fabric. The crinkle of foil.

My thighs clench together, trying to alleviate the ache that’s appeared. My body is already conditioned to anticipate pleasure from his.

The mattress dips again, lower, and then there’s a warm body lying beside mine.

I think the rustling meant he’s naked, but I don’t reach out to confirm.

This feels … deliberate. Not the frantic rush of our first night together. We didn’t just happen to end up at the same weddingthis time. He chased me. Maybe not to Saint-Tropez, since he said he had business here, but to this house. To this bed.

“We did the group dance for Chloe last night,” I tell him, for some random reason.

Charlie tucks an arm behind his head, bicep bulging. “Yeah?”

My thighs are squeezed so tight I’m concerned I could be cutting off circulation down there.

“Yeah. She loved it.”

“Not surprised. Wish I’d gotten to see it.”

“Our dance was better,” I say, then bite my bottom lip. Reminiscing about a romantic waltz in the wilderness isn’t typical pillow talk with a fling. “How’s Blythe?”

Bringing up his sister isn’t much better, but it’s the first thing that pops into my head.

“I hadn’t heard from her in three days, then she texted me ten times after dinner because she blew a fuse at the flat. So … her normal self.”

“That’s good.”

“Mmhmm.” He rolls toward me, left hand landing on my hip.

I pull in a quick breath, his touch spreading across my skin like ripples on the surface of a pond.

“You’re good at cards,” Charlie tells me.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

He chuckles, skilled fingers finding the hem of my silk slip and sneaking under it. Teasing strokes brush back and forth across my leg, slowly moving higher.

I relax my thighs and spread my knees, battling the urge to grab his hand and shift it up to where I really want it.

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