Page 75 of Close Contact
I’d been obsessed with it before I knew what obsession really meant. Before I knew whatshemeant.
Now it was branded into my bloodstream.
I tucked it carefully back where I found it, closed the bag, and stood still for a second, just breathing.
I definitely wasn’t surviving this night.
I pausedin the doorway of the guest room, towel slung around my neck from the cold shower Aurélie had blue-balled me into that did absolute fuck-all to my lower extremity that simply refused to behave. Two showers in an hour thanks to her.
She was still getting ready in the bathroom. And goddammit. There, laid out like some kind of delicate execution, was the dress.
If you could even call it that.
It was tiny. Barely there. A soft, shimmery light pink that made my dick twitch on sight—because it wasthe exact samecoloras her cheeks when she came. That flushed, desperate glow when she was close. When she fell apart under me.
And beside the dress? Lace panties. Same color. Same damn shade as the pair still on my bedroom floor.
“What the fuck is this,” I muttered, reaching out and lifting the dress between two fingers. It weighed less than my restraint. And then I realized… it was thesame fucking dressthat she wore in Miami.
My heart pounded. Blood surged to my cock like it was answering a call to arms. My brain buffered under the memory of her wearing this—tight over her hips, hugging her ass, her tits barely contained. Her lavender-scented whatever clinging to her skin and her hair.
Jesus Christ.
I might blow a load in my pants.
I was still holding the dress—probably staring at it like it held the secrets to the universe—when I heard the bathroom door open behind me. I turned… and nearly dropped to my knees.
She was… holy shit. She was unreal. Hair styled straight, makeup glowing, that signature French softness meeting savage sensuality in a way that should’ve been illegal.
My mouth went dry. My cock pressed even tighter against the front of my joggers. Itneededher right now.Ineeded her. And still—still—I was standing there like a goddamn idiot, holding the barely-there dress she’d laid out like I’d just caught feelings and fire at the same time.
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I blinked. “Trying to survive?”
She strode forward and snatched the dress from my hands with a scandalized huff. “Put. Your. Clothes. On.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out except a strangled groan. She breezed past me toward the bed and I just stoodthere, still shirtless, still semi-damp, still rock fucking hard and dangerously close to losing my mind.
“Jesus,Aurélie,” I muttered. “You’re going to kill me.”
She didn’t even turn around. “Good. Then I’ll have champagne and fries to celebrate your funeral.”
Damn. She was brutal.
I forced myself to throw on black jeans and a black button-down, rolling the sleeves halfway up my forearms as if it would give me even a shred of self-control.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
Not when I was already hard fromjustthinkingabout that goddamn dress. And the matching panties. And the way she’d told me she never planned to let me go.
I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows to my knees, trying to settle the ache low in my stomach and the pounding in my cock.
Then I heard it—the soft click of the bathroom door. She came into view like some kind of fucking mirage, except there was nothing delicate about the way my jaw dropped.
That dress.That dress.
Sinfully tight, as if it had been vacuum-sealed to every perfect curve. The neckline dipped low enough that I could see the swell of her tits, and the hem barely brushed the tops of her thighs. There was a playful little ruffle that flounced with each step, right over that heart-shaped ass I’d had my hands on less than two hours ago.
