Page 64 of Cruelest Contract
I bet Julian is a demanding lover, a man with infinite appetites. He’ll expect to be satisfied and he won’t quit until he returns the favor.
A deep ache begins to bloom. It tugs beneath my belly and moves lower, a heat that spreads and multiplies until my legs feel weak.
Without thinking, I pluck at the top button of my sweater. I’m wearing a bra underneath, nothing else. With a sharp inhale, I work the first button loose.
Below, Julian remains motionless, waiting and watching.
A second sweater button follows the fate of the first.
Fuck, this isn’t like me at all.
I don’t strip in front of windows. I never get tempted to finger myself before an audience in broad daylight. And yet, I’m thinking about it.
What Julian does to me is something no man has ever successfully accomplished. In less than a week he’s made me reckless. Needy.Uninhibited.
I want him to see me. I want him towantme.
The rain continues to pour down on Julian’s head as he casually rubs a hand over his crotch.
I pluck another button free. My breasts feel tender and tingly, eager to be released. A diabolical inner voice begs me to keep going.
One of the cowboys strides into view, taking a brisk walk across the yard with one hand fastened to his head to keep his hat in place.
I retreat from the window so fast you’d think I’d just been shot at.
With the spell broken, I flop down on the bed, covering my face with a fluffy pillow and fretting over Julian’s irresistible hold on me.
There are only two days left until Cass Tempesta returns. He made it clear he’ll expect to hear my decision.
I roll over to my belly and fold my hands under my chin. A wall clock I’ve barely noticed before suddenly sounds oppressively loud as the seconds tick by. The quilt I’m lying on is a patchwork of roses and stripes. Pink is the dominant color but far from the only color. The quilt is very pretty and very suited to my style.
Just like the flowers in the room.
And just like the boots Julian surprised me with.
And the birthday cake.
I have trouble believing this is all a coincidence. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to curate my experience here and cater to my tastes.
A muffled bang coming from the first floor is familiar to me by now. Someone has just entered the house through the heavy front door. Within seconds, footsteps ascend the stairs at a steady, deliberate pace.
Realistically, the man who is now climbing the stairs could be any of Julian’s brothers but I know it’s not and I feel vindicated when the footsteps come closer.
Fort’s room is at the top of the stairs. Tye and Getty have rooms in the opposite direction and their father’s suite is up on the third floor. But Julian sleeps two doors down. All that separates us is another guest bedroom.
His heavy boots thud on the hallway carpet. I can see his shadow beneath the door when he pauses right outside.
I rise up on my forearms. I’m still aroused. Can’t shake it. My hips dig into the mattress. Pleasure ignites between my legs, an itch that begs to be scratched. My teeth sink into my lower lip, stifling the moan that wants to escape.
Julian lingers outside my door for a few more seconds. I hold my breath, awaiting a knock, or the rich timbre of his deep voice speaking my name. He must be cold after standing out in the rain for so long.
He doesn’t knock or speak before moving down the hall. I don’t recognize my own disappointment until I finally exhale with the feeling of a ballon that’s just deflated.
Hinges squeak and an unseen door closes as Julian enters his bedroom. I picture him stripping his sodden clothes off, rubbing a towel over his wet skin.
All this does is magnify my own sexual frustration.
Not helpful. Hormones, no matter how powerful, need to take a backseat.
