Page 47 of Filthy Rich Temptation
I come hard, muscles locking, hand still pumping as it crashes out of me. Loud. Messy. Shameful in the best fucking way.
Over a week of tension – seven years even – ripped free in one frenzied release. I brace against the wall, breath shredded, legs weak.
Wrecked.
The water keeps running. Cold. Relentless.
But inside, she burns, as hot as she ever did.
God help me.
* * *
Sadie
‘Morning.’
I jump at his raspy greeting, my smile plastered on too tight. So much for playing it cool after last night’s encounter…
‘Morning,’ I say, my eyes registering everything about him in one swift glance. The way his hair is still damp from his shower. The way his cheeks are flushed pink. The way his eyes glimmer and squint with what I’m sure is the hangover I predicted. As for his body, that pale-grey tee hugs his broad shoulders and pecs in a way that makes me want to trace every ridge, and those lounge pants… I swallow. ‘Breakfast?’
He winces, his knuckles grazing the scruff along his jaw.
Yeah, I’m back to squeaky-chipmunk mode.
‘Did I fall asleep and wake up in some Stepford fantasy?’
His eyes flick to the griddle – pancakes cooking, bacon spitting – then to the towering stack already on the island, a bowl of chopped strawberries sitting pretty next to it. Picture perfect. Then his gaze slides back to me, and I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
He pockets his hands, the fabric of his lounge pants stretching a little too much… or not enough, depending on how much you’re hoping to see.
And then his question registers and hits a little too close to home. Stepford. A wife.His.
Heat climbs into my cheeks, and I snap back to the stove.
‘Danny always said nothing beat my pancakes and crispy rashers the morning after,’ I say, flipping the bacon.
It’s true.
It was the one thing that cut through the worst of his mood, and gave me something to do that wasn’t just waiting for him to bite. Not that Theo needs the same treatment. But I wanted to do it. And that makes all the difference.
‘Fuck, Sadie.’
He’s suddenly behind me, so close that when I turn, we’re chest to chest. The only thing between us – a raised spatula and the wild thudding in my chest. His scent rises above the kitchen aroma. Clean. Fresh. Wholly him. Who needs bacon to tantalise the tastebuds when you have a Theo?
I try to catch my breath, but every inhale sends him deeper beneath my skin.
‘God, I’m sorry!’
‘What for?’ I puff.
‘I didn’t think.’ He drags a hand through his hair, eyes raining down on me, heavy with guilt. ‘Did I remind you of him? Last night, the drink, did I?—?’
Oh, God.‘You’renothim, Theo. You could never be him.’
And yes, I’m dodging the full truth. Because sure, the drink made me think of Danny. But it didn’t make me fear for my safety. Not in the way Theo’s thinking.
No. What I feared most was my desire for him. And where it would take us if I gave it free rein.
