The sight of Theo from a city block away is getting me more hot and bothered than Philip ever did up close. This is not normal. Ishould not be having this many feral and unhinged thoughts aboutTheo. Sure, he’s attractive—so irritatingly attractive that it’s hard to pull my eyes away sometimes. But this is a new level. My hormones must be completely out of control. Imay be unwell. Ishould check my temperature.
“Want me to get you some binoculars?” asks a voice at my shoulder.
I squeak, whipping around to find Logan, who somehow made it all the way back from the coffee shop without me realizing it. My face bursts into flames.
Without a goodbye, I hang up the phone. “I was checking to see if... uh, there was...” I scrunch up my face. Damn my brain. “I don’t know.”
“Mm-hmm. Sure you were.” He doesn’t sound like he believes me at all.
I’ve been caught—red-cheeked and guilty. My best defense is to turn this around on him. “I saw you staring out the window when Mabel walked into work today.”
His grin is shameless. “Difference is, I’ll own up to it.”
I’ve tried everything I can think of.
Deep-cleaned the kitchen. Wiped down the baseboards. Swept the front and back porches. Organized my closet by color. Vacuumed the couch. Scrubbed the inside of the fucking washing machine, for crying out loud.
I’m now on my second cup of tea, trying to calm myself from the inside out, and I’m still no closer to smothering the achy, wanting feeling running rampant in my body.
We’re not going toblameTheo for this, because that would make it sound like he’s the reason for it. But did the sight of him outside the fire station exacerbate the problem?Yeah, fine, it did.
Maybe if I get it over with, it’ll be much easier to be around him. Iwon’t constantly be thinking about him and histhat’s really good, all moan-y and deep right in my ear the other night.
“Fine,” I growl, horny and angry about it. Grabbing my headphones, I practically stomp up the stairs, grateful when no steps break. Istrip out of my work clothes and stand in front of my full-length mirror, surveying my lingerie. Today it’s pale pink—a lacy see-through bra and matching thong. Ifeel sexy as hell in them but slip them off because the thought of getting into my softest pajamas is too good to pass up.
The creamy fabric glides over my body as I slide the tank top over my head and pull the loose shorts up my legs. Isnag my vibrator from the nightstand and tug the headphones over my ears. They fit snugly, giving me just the right amount of noise-canceling to help me focus. Isit in the middle of my bed and press the icon for my erotic audio app.
At the top, a banner appears.Today’s new audio: Did someone call the fire department?
“Oh my god,” I blurt, swiping away from it as quickly as humanly possible.Hell no. Absolutely not. I’d rather die.
I settle on a guided session from a narrator I’ve listened to before. It’s firefighter-free, praise the audio erotica gods. As soon as his deep, raspy voice hits my ears, relief loosens my tense muscles.
“Hey, there. Are you alone?” he asks. Chills race over my bare shoulders and arms as he lets out a low, gravelly groan. Iset the phone on my nightstand and fall back against the mattress.
“Have you been a good girl?” He hums softly. Isquirm, heat already pooling between my thighs. “Yeah, I know you have. You need some relief, don’t you?”
I try to picture him in my head. Maybe he has long black hair, pulled into a bun, and dark blue eyes. He watches me slide a hand up my shirt. Soft whimpers drift from my lips, but all I can hear is the narrator’s voice in my ears as he guides my movements, telling me exactly how he wants me to touch myself.
My other hand slips inside my shorts, and I glide my fingers through my arousal. All it takes is one gentle touch to have my hips twitching up to seek more pressure. I’m keyed up and agitated and desperate for relief.
I fumble beside me for the vibrator and press the button before sliding it into my shorts. My eyes squeeze shut, and I writhe into my hand as it pulses against my clit.
“You’re doing perfect,” the narrator says.
I imagine him watching my every move.
Black hair, blue eyes.
Black hair, blue eyes.
I repeat it to myself as my body surges with pleasure and my heels dig into the mattress. The wave builds, and I throw my head back.
Black hair, blue eyes.
Brown hair, mocha eyes.
A cry hiccups out of me when Theo appears in my fantasy. He studies me from the foot of the bed, his gaze burning with need.
