Without restraint.
Without fear.
Without shame.
I’m so turned on, I can practically feel her clenching around me as she screams my name. In reality, it’s myhand squeezing my dick and me who’s moaning her name as my release overtakes me.
I frantically jerk at my erection while thick streams coat my pajama pants, my orgasm never seeming to end as I ride wave after wave of bliss.
When the haze lifts, I don’t move for several seconds, breathing heavily as I struggle to wrap my head around what I just did.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Maybe my mom’s right.
Maybe it’s time I put myself out there again. Even if I’m not ready for any sort of commitment, I could use some physical intimacy in my life… As evidenced by the fact that I just jerked off fantasizing about my kids’ nanny.
I spin from the window and all but run into the bathroom, hastily shedding my pants and t-shirt, as if evidence of a horrific crime.
By the time I step into the shower, I’m wound tight with shame and guilt. The water is scalding, steam filling the room, but I don’t care. I need the pain, the burning sensation anchoring me back to reality.
Once I’m dressed in my suit, I slip out of my room and hurry down the stairs, checking my watch as I turn the corner into the kitchen…
And run right into a tall, lithe body.
Instinct kicks in, and my hand shoots out, steadying Rowan by the hip.
She inhales sharply, her eyes flying to mine.
I should let go. Put as much space between us aspossible, especially when I feel that stirring in my pants, despite having just jerked off.
But my brain doesn’t seem to get the message. Instead, my fingers move of their own volition, caressing the sliver of exposed skin above her waist.
For half a second, neither of us moves. She doesn’t push out of my grip. And I continue to caress her soft skin.
She darts out her tongue to moisten her lips, and I snap out of my trance, dropping my hold on her as if I’ve been burned.
“Sorry,” she says nervously, lifting the baby monitor. “Jemmy’s stirring.”
“Of course,” I manage, allowing her to pass before rushing toward the coffee machine to make myself a cup.
Even then, the image of her lingers.
The warmth of her skin.
Her sweet perfume.
It’s only been one day, and yet she seems to have already weaseled her way under my skin.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROWAN
It’s been over a week.
Long enough for routines to settle.
