“You think?” Her face glimmers with hope.
“Undoubtedly. I’ve never seen them like a girl as much as you.”
And fuck it when I say that sentiment applies to me too.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and lean down until our noses barely touch. Vivienne’s chest seizes, stilling on an inhale, while my hand moves to the back of her neck, squeezing lightly.
Everything about her is intoxicating. From the way she moves to the way she talks, to the droop of her eyes when my gaze flicks over her blush-colored lips.
You made her a promise, you bastard.
I take a step back, scrubbing a hand down my neck in frustration. “I’m going to take a shower,” I say, avoiding the sight of her. “T-shirts and sweatpants are in the bottom drawer if you need something to sleep in.”
The bathroom door shuts behind me louder than I intend. I strip bare, ignoring my racing thoughts, and even more so, my raging hard-on as I step in the shower.
Freezing-cold water cascades over my body, a chill seeping into my bones. Goose bumps trickle up my arm, and my heartbeat grows faster than I thought was possible.
The cold should have slowed down my heart rate, but I realize I’m still burning up when every touch from that woman ignites an inferno beneath my skin.
I knew she was special from the moment I met her. No woman has ever had the guts to talk back to me like that. To entertain the stupid shit I say and rebut it with something equally as witty. I like that about her—so damn much—but it’s simultaneously the thing I hate most. Because looking back at it now, I realize that no matter how easy I thought it would be to resist her, I had no real chance from the start.
“Fuck.” I throw my head back in frustration.
Subjecting myself to these low temperatures should have been torturous enough to make me forget. But if Vivienne Brown is good at one thing, it’s being unforgettable.
One time.That’s all I need to get her out of my system—shamebe damned.
A shaky hand rests against the tiled wall in front of me, while the other wipes the precum leaking out.
This is an all-time low—jacking off to the thought of my fake fiancée when she’s a door over, in my childhood bedroom, of all places—but it has to be done. For my sanity. My control. My ability to look at her without wanting to pounce.
I wrap a palm around myself, squeezing tightly.
Dirty thoughts of her run through my mind as I glide my hand up and down my length. Her pouty lips wrapped around my cock. Her nail scratches down my back, marking me the same way my hickeys would on her delicate body. Most importantly, those Bambi eyes looking into mine as I bring her to the edge of ecstasy.
“Fuck, Vivienne.” I pick up the pace, unable to control myself.
Guilt riddles my chest when I finally come.
I shut the water off and wrap a towel around my waist before leaving the en suite.
Underwear, sweatpants, and a T-shirt—I’m on a mission.I usually sleep in boxers, but I don’t think it would be appropriate or safe for me to be shirtless around that woman.
“Oh my God!”
My eyes dart to Vivienne’s shocked wail just in time to see her tumble off the bed, landing with a loud thud.
A hand pops up from the other side. “I’m okay! Don’t worry about me. And I beg you, please don’t come over.”
My brows knit in confusion—for more than one reason. First, the madness that must be running through her mind if she thinks I wouldn’t check on her. Second, since when do twenty-six-year-olds casually fall off beds? That hasn’t happened to me since I was three.
I round the bed despite her wishes, stopping short when I see her lying on the floor—hair splayed in every which way as she gives me a lopsided smile and two thumbs-up.
The dim light of the table lamp is barely bright enough to illuminate the soft features of her face and dilated pupils. She looks embarrassed, like she’d been caught red-handed. But whatever it could be slips through my mind when I see the outline of her nipples straining against my old MIT shirt.
It’s cold this time of year,I try to convince myself.It has nothing to do with the way she might feel about you.
The mantras don’t do their job as my gaze lingers on the sight, wondering how she’d look without the cotton barrier. Eventually, I muster the willpower to turn my head in the other direction.
