Page 13 of The Rivals' Touch

“Yes! Zayd! Oh, god!”

I blink my eyes open and lift my head, confused for a moment. I’m not in my own bed back home. I’m in my new bedroom at Zayd’s house.

“Aaah!”

When his headboard begins to bang against my wall rhythmically, I groan. For a luxury house, the walls sure are paper thin.

I roll my head and look out through the large window. The dark has settled, and the silvery moon reflects on the glass and lights up the oak flooring.

I reach for my phone beside me to check the time. It’s past midnight.

“Zayd! Mmm!”

“Zayd, Zayd, Zayd!” I mutter to myself as I crawl up the bed and grab one of the pillows to press over my ears. “Fucking dick!”

Bang!

Bang!

Grunts, moans, and something that sounds suspiciously like a slap.

“Jesus Christ!” I growl and climb out of bed to dig through my bag for earplugs. I can’t find them. Trust today to be the one day I lose them. It’s as if the universe itself is laughing at my expense. “Fucking great!”

“More, Zayd! Yes!”

Bang!

I stare at the offending wall, wondering if there’s a gun here somewhere I can use to shoot at it and riddle it with holes.

I reach for my phone again.

Me: I’ve not even been here a day, and I already have to listen to Zayd fuck.

I record a short audio clip and send that to Cali too. Then I wait.

Until they’re done, I can’t sleep and I haven’t figured out where the TV is in this room, if there even is one.

I shift onto my knees and look underneath the bed. It must be one of those magical beds where the TV rises out of it somehow, but where is the TV? Underneath it? Inside it?

“Yes! Yes! Oh, Zayd!”

“You don’t have to say his name every five fucking seconds,” I growl, crawling underneath the bed in search of hidden technology that might make this night more bearable.

When I scoot back out, I know two things for certain: there’s no TV hidden underneath, and there are no dust bunnies.

“Fuck!” Zayd grunts, deep and masculine, and my head snaps up. It’s the first time I’ve heard him. Is he on top? Fucking her from behind? Is she riding him like a buckaroo? I dismiss the last thought; she doesn’t sound like she’s in charge.

What the heck is wrong with me? I shouldn’t imagine what sexual position Zayd is in.

I climb back into bed and pull the quilt over my head. When that doesn’t work, I add two pillows. All that results in is a lack of oxygen that will lead to a painfully slow death if I don’t take a breath.

“I’m coming! Oh, Zayd, don’t stop!”

“Thank fuck for that,” I hiss, rolling over on my front and pressing the pillows back over my head while Legacy squeals through her orgasm.

The headboard bangs relentlessly against the wall until a deep masculine groan has me shooting up in bed and cursing my own curiosity.

“Peace, blissful peace!” I whisper, lying back down when silence finally descends. It doesn’t last. Moans soon start back up. This time, I hit the bed. Repeatedly.

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