His voice is low, there’s a sexy smirk. “I want to taste every inch of you, Hollis.”
Working myself toward a peak, my hips rock against my own hand. My eyes lock with my own on the screen of my phone. Knees bent, bright red lips parted, and back arching off the bed. I barely recognize this woman.
His green eyes looking right at me. He fills me. Drives into me. Over. And. Over. And. Over.
It may be my hands, but all I see is him. I don’t slow down. Don’t stop saying his name.
I’m close.
Closer.
Closer.
Driving my fingers right into the doorbell ringing.
The doorbell ringing?
I freeze, stricken with fear, silent as I stop breathing. I look at the phone like it’s responsible for whatever hallucination I’m having.
The doorbell rings—again. I did not imagine it and I fall off the bed with athud.
Who in the hell?
Heart jumping in my throat, I crawl across the floor and frantically pound the screen of my phone to stop the video; it drops to the floor.
The doorbell rings—again—this time accompanied by a rapid fire of knocks and panic seizing my chest as my eyes dart around the room. I half expect to see the red flashing light of a hidden camera.
Another ring, more knocks, this time muffled voices calling my name are added in.
“Shit,” I mutter, fumbling for a robe—the only one I have being ridiculously sheer white silk and mostly lace—and hustleto the stairs. My self-sex-covered fingers grip the robe tighter, and the damn doorbell rings again.
I feel caught. Like whoever is here knows what I was just doing and is impatiently waiting on my front porch to arrest me for being a dirty pervert.
At the door, I pause, take a deep breath, open it a crack, and cringe when I see bright green eyes, an amused smirk, and a head of tousled dark hair.
“Jay?” I ask, stunned. A fresh shot of exposed mortification washes over me as I widen the opening of the door. He’s holding a box and foil-covered dish. Beside a tree. And Marv.
Who frowns, takes a long sniff, and says, “You reek of pheromones and look like a prostitute.”
Oh dear God.
Heat crawls up my neck, and I pinch the opening of my robe. “Thank you, Marv.”
I do not look at Jay.
“Jay was worried you’d starve,” Marv says, looking past me into the house as he takes a flashlight out of his pocket, clicking it twice. “You’re a sitting duck here. Mind if I look around?”
Marv doesn’t wait for me to answer before stepping around me and inside, disappearing down the hall.
I clutch my robe.
Jay and I stand at the doorway, cold clouds around our faces. His jaw is slightly scruffy, his thermal very fitted. I want to lick him like a candy cane.
“You’re wearing lingerie,” he says, twitch of his mustache conveying how funny this is. How completely ridiculous. His eyes bounce all over me—my face, my sheer robe, my bare legs—and when they make it back to my face, they are so filled with amusement it’s like he’s watching a stand-up comedy show.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I hate you.”
“Still wearing lingerie.”
