She arches slightly, her hips lifting off the mattress, and I watch her mouth make a sound I can hear through the glass. Her hand moves faster now, more urgent, chasing her orgasm.
I wonder what she’s thinking about.
Whoshe’s thinking about.
The possessive part of me—the part I’ve tried so hard to keep buried—wants,needsit to be me. Needs to be the image behind her closed eyes, the fantasy making her breath come short and sharp.
Mine.
I don’t push the thought away; instead, I welcome it, nurture it.
She’s mine.
Her back arches higher. Her free hand releases the sheets and slides up her own body, cupping her breast through heropen robe. She’s close—I can tell by the tension in her thighs, the way her whole body seems to gather toward a single point.
I descend without deciding to. The balcony is narrow, barely enough room for a couple of chairs and small table, and I land on it without a sound. Through the glass door, I can see her more clearly now. I touch the door lightly… It’s not locked. And why would anyone lock a balcony door this high up when the only person who could be up here is…me?
The sounds reach me—soft gasps, breathy moans, the rustle of sheets beneath her shifting body. Each one makes my cock strain, causes my hands to curl into fists at my sides.
I could knock. Announce myself. Give her the choice.
I don’t. I reach for the door handle, still invisible, still silent, and slide it open as quietly as possible.
The room smells like her. Clean skin, vanilla coconut. The scent wraps around me as I step inside.
She doesn’t hear it. She’s too far gone, lost in whatever she’s building toward, her eyes squeezed shut and her lips parted around sounds that make my cock stiffen.
I stand there, in the shadows, invisible, watching her chase her pleasure.
And I wait.
CHAPTER 24
MIA
You are such a bloody slag.
The thought drifts through my mind, but I feel zero shame. Not enough to stop me, anyway. My robe is already undone. My hand is sliding beneath the sheets, my knickers pushed to the side.
Somewhere in Midtown, Kat is waiting for me to review her intel. My laptop sits open on the desk, the article cursor blinking impatiently. Countless responsible choices exist between me and this moment, and I’m ignoring every single one of them, because right now, tonight, my body has taken control—and it’s horny as hell.
Because my body remembers his hands. His mouth. The way he looked at me like I was something wondrous and devastating all at once. And now, alone in the dark, I can’t stop the memories of the last few days from flooding in, the dam of reason completely broken.
I close my eyes and let my hand move in slow circles, chasing the ghost of his touch. It’s not the same—nothing could be the same—but my imagination is vivid enough to make my breath catch, to make my hips lift slightly off the mattress.
I want him.
Nate.
His name in my head, his face behind my closed eyes. I picture him above me, that predatory focus in his gaze, the way his impossible muscles flex when he’s holding himself back, the ridges of his abs straining. I picture his mouth trailing down my body, his stubble scraping my inner thighs, his tongue?—
A sound escapes me, soft and needy enough to embarrass myself, even though I’m all alone. My free hand releases the sheets and slides up to cup my breast through my open robe, thumb brushing my nipple the way he did.
I’m close, so close, embarrassingly fast, because apparently, justthinkingabout Nate ‘Vanguard’ Whitaker is enough to wind me tight as a spring.
My fingers move faster, pressing harder against my clit, and I feel the orgasm building, that familiar pressure gathering low in my belly, ready to crest?—
The bed dips.
