Page 34 of Embers in Autumn
The phone buzzed again.
Dean:Just don’t fall in love with fictional me before I get a chance to make a real impression.
I hugged the pillow to my chest, smiling like an idiot.
Amber:Too late. Fictional you has already promised to fix the heroine’s leaky roof and bring her donuts.
Dean:Not a problem. I make great pancakes.
I laughed so hard I had to wipe my eyes.
Lying there in the glow of the lamp, with a silly book in my lap and Dean’s words lighting up my screen, I realized how long it had been since I’d felt this way. Light. Giddy. Like anything was possible.
And God help me, I didn’t want it to stop.
The phone buzzed again in my hand, the screen lighting up my dim bedroom.
Dean:Tell me, Amber. Which part are you at?
I stared at the firefighter on the book’s cover, then back at my phone. My heart was already racing. I typed slowly, almost trembling.
Amber:…The scene where he corners her against the wall. He tells her she smells like smoke and sugar.
A pause. Then another buzz.
Dean:Christ. You’re going to ruin me.
Dean:I can picture it. You in bed, book on your lap, hair messy, biting your lip.
I swallowed hard, heat pooling low in my belly.
Amber:Maybe.
Dean:Don’t tease me. I’m hard just thinking about you. Do you get wet picturing me in that uniform?
The words hit me like a slap of heat. My thighs clenched, my breath uneven.
Amber:Dean… maybe.
Dean:No, don’t stop there. Do you have your hand between your legs yet?
A shocked gasp left me. My free hand slid lower before I could think.Damn it,he was right. That image of him was enough to get me all fired up.
Amber:Not yet.
Dean:Then do it. Put the book aside and slide your hand down. I want you wet for me.
I swallowed hard. My thighs pressed together, heat blooming, a coil tightening in my stomach. My fingers hovered over the keys.
Amber:What else do you want me o do for you?
Dean:Do it. Slide those pretty fingers under and feel howwet you are for me.
My breath caught. I set the phone down beside me, the words still burning against the screen. My hand slid under the blanket, slow, almost shy, until my fingers grazed the damp fabric of my panties. The jolt made me gasp.
Dean:That’s it. Stroke yourself for me. Slow. Pretend it’s my hand between your thighs.
I obeyed, slipping past the cotton, finding the slick heat waiting. My hips arched off the bed, the shock of contact stealing my breath.
