Page 12 of Wicked William

“It’s just a kiss, William.” Though we both know that would be a lie.

He leans in, his breath hot against my lips. “Just a kiss?”

“No reason for concern,” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the music. “It’s just a kiss.”

Without another word, he presses his lips to mine, his kiss hungry and demanding. I moan softly, wrapping my arms around his neck as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth. His hands slide down my back, and he pulls me closer, our bodies melding together.

The kiss seems to last forever, and when it finally breaks, I’m trembling. William is smoldering, his dark eyes intense with desire.

“Just a kiss,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip. “Good night, Maisy.” He pauses in the doorway while I try to catch my breath. “Maisy?”

“Yes, William?”

“There are extra batteries in the kitchen junk drawer. If you need them.”

It takes me a second to figure out he’s referring to my vibrator. “It’s rechargeable, but thanks.”

Chapter Six

William

Maisy has been livingin my house for days, but I’ve resisted touching her. Instead, we play board games and I take cold showers and I listen to her have orgasms by herself every night. Rechargeable batteries, indeed.

One thing I’ve learned about Maisy is that it’s impossible not to like her. Despite the scent of trouble she carries around with her, she’s refreshingly honest and will tell you exactly what she’s thinking, no matter how odd. For some reason, I like it.

But when she looks at me, I can feel the magnetic energy between us. It’s like she’s drawing me in, slowly but surely, and I’m powerless to resist. I’m not sure how long I can keep this up without something happening between us.

I’ve just gotten home from the rehearsal dinner for Max and Cherry’s wedding tomorrow, and she’s reading a book and drinking a glass of wine. She isn’t wearing one of her witchy bohemian getups, instead she’s wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a concert tee. Her hair is up in a bun on top of her head and her feet are covered in a soft blue afghan. She looks so relaxed and cozy in my living room, it’s hard to believe she’s been here less than a week.

Wait. “Is that my shirt?”

She looks down. “Is it? It must have gotten mixed in with my clothes when I folded the laundry. Sorry.”

That...is not even a little believable. “So you put it on anyway?”

“It was soft. Relax, the band already broke up so I’m not giving them bad luck.”

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