“Not as wicked as what I’m about to do to you,” he growls, reclaiming my mouth with his. He reaches down, finding the hems of my skirts and ghosting his fingers tantalizingly up my calf, then up my inner thigh until he reaches the heat pooling between my legs. His pupils blow wide as he drags a finger slowly through my wetness, making me cry out.
“Jack–”
“Good morning sunshine!” Ellie cries in a sing-song voice, pulling my curtains back and letting the light into my room. I sit bolt upright, chest heaving the way it was in the dream I was just having.
The masquerade ball dream.
Thesexymasquerade ball dream.
StarringJack.
“Are you okay?” Ellie asks, cutting through the replay. “Did you have a nightmare? You look flushed.”
“Oh my god,” I moan, flopping backwards and pulling a pillow over my face. “Worse, Ellie Bellie. So much worse.”
“What the hell does that mean?” she says, her blue eyes wide with shock as she wrenches the pillow away from me. “‘Worse’ than a nightmare?”
“That fucking show,” I huff. “I knew that bingeing TV before bed was a bad idea. It put…ideas in my head.”
“What kind of ideas?” she asks slyly, a knowing smile spreading on her face.
“You know exactly what kind,” I moan, trying to hide from her again by burying my face in my hands. “Ideas about hot, British regency men whisking me away to dark corners because they simplyhaveto have me.”
“Well well well, mynaughtyginger angel,” she cackles. “And here I was worried you were dreaming of somethingtraumatizing. A sex dream? Spill right now and please, spare no details.”
“I haven’t gotten to the traumatizing part yet,” I say through gritted teeth. “It was a fucking masquerade ball, and right before you woke me up, things were getting hot and heavy, and I took his mask off, and–”
“Please tell me you didn’t have a sex dream about David,” she gasps. “I will pass out on this floor right now.”
“Worse,” I say grimly. “It wasJack.”
She squeals loudly, waving her hands frantically in a mixture of horror and delight.
“Oh my God,” she screams. “I’ve never, ever thought about Jack with a girl–ew!” She dissolves into giggles, rolling around on my bed like it’s the most ludicrous thing she’s ever heard.
“Will you stop,” I grumble, smacking her with the other pillow. “You cannot breathe a word of this to anyone. Oh my God. How am I supposed to look him in the eye ever again?”
“Oh, hush,” she says, pulling herself together. “It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a combination of your horny pregnancy hormones and several hours of watching men in those slutty little shirts that turn see-through from a singular drop of water.”
“Of course it doesn’t mean anything,” I say quickly. “It’s just weird and embarrassing.”
It was just a dream. It’s not a big deal.
But no matter how many times I tell myself that, it doesn’t stop the flashbacks I get the rest of the day–a roguish grin, lips pressed against my pulse, strong hands gripping my waist.
And gray eyes I worry I could very much lose myself in if I’m not careful.
***
I spend the afternoon trying to busy myself, my heart rate increasing with every minute closer to the time Jack should be home.
Stop it, you freak. It was just a dream. Be normal.
But when the front door opens, the glass in my hand slips, shattering into a thousand pieces on the kitchen floor.
“Abby?” Jack calls from the entryway where I can hear him drop his workbag heavily. “Are you okay?”
“Um, yes, everything is fine!” I yell, my voice an octave higher than it should be. I step gingerly across the floor, grabbing the broom from the corner and hastily sweeping up the shards. “I just broke a glass, that’s all!”
