Page 26 of Touch My Shelves

I do and his eyes go back to my chest, watching me. I set my drink down on the bedside table and rub my now free hand up the side of my neck, letting my head fall back, aroused not just from the nipple stimulation, but also from the intense desire of being watched. By him.

Our gazes meet again, and this time he motions to my nighty and mouths, “Take it off.”

I don’t even think about not doing it. I pull it off and toss it on the bed. Now I’m standing in front of the window in nothing but a skimpy pair of champagne-colored silk and lace, low-cut panties.

He licks his lips and I stare at his hand moving closer and closer to the waistband of his shorts.

Is he going to…

I gasp. Yes, he is! He pushes his shorts down and his cock springs forward. He grasps it at the base and gives it a few measured strokes. It grows even thicker each time I pinch and tweak my nipples.

I can’t stop one hand from traveling down the center of my chest and my fingers delve under a wisp of lace to find my aching clit. Rubbing circles around the swollen nub, I keep my eyes glued to his hand as he pleasures himself.

He braces one hand against the window pane as he works himself with the other. Our gazes lock onto what the other is doing. Deep inside, tremors start. I’m close. From the pace he’s changed to, I’d say he’s right with me.

I toss my hair back, tipping my head as the final few swirls with my wet fingers begin to send me…

“Poppy.”

I open my eyes and the white ceiling above comes into view. I squint. The ceiling?

My bed shifts and jiggles as a body jumps up and lands beside me.

“Poppy, are you going to sleep all morning?”

What’s happening? I’m still caught up in…my dream? Was it only a dream? My disappointment level bottoms out. Couldn’t I have had five more minutes? I blink and turn my gaze to Freeya’s as her cute, yet frustrated, face stares back at me.

“Come on, Poppy. I don’t want to be late for the work day in town. What do you think they will have us doing?”

I’m still a bit confused. I turn my head and the clock on the bedside table reads seven in the morning. My gaze goes to the window. Twilight pours in through the open curtains, but I can see the turret room is dark and uninhabited. I flop back on the bed. A dream. It had all been a dream. Damn! I should jot that down and maybe consider writing a spicy romance novel.

* * *

“Freeya seems to be getting along with the other children,” Kimberly remarks.

Watching Freeya with two other girls around her age brings a smile to my face as they giggle and talk about who knows what. Probably the two boys who’ve been teasing them all morning. Why don’t men just take a direct approach? It would make relationships much simpler. Just say “I like you,” instead of playing games.

I dip the paint brush into a can of orange paint and go back to working on the backdrop of the game booth Kimberly and I have been assigned. “She got off to a slow start, but quickly warmed up to Carly and Sherin.”

Kimberly nudges my shoulder which makes my paintbrush bump into a non-orange area. “And how is getting along with the hot dad going?” she asks.

She would go there. I grab a rag and wipe off theoopsto reveal the crisp black line once again. “There is nothing going on with her father. He’s my boss.”

One brow pops, accompanied with a not-buying-it look on her face. “Come on, Poppy. I’ve known you long enough to know you’re interested in him.”

I take a breath to deny, but why? My shoulders deflate in defeat. “Okay, fine, he is hot, but he’s also Freeya’s father. Nothing is going to happen between us. Besides, I’m totally not his jam. I’m sure he goes for the thin supermodel with worldly experience type.”

Moving closer and lowering her voice, she says, “Listen, I know who he really is. Yes, he’s a famous author, but he’s always seemed to have his head on straight. I never see him in the news and he’s never been linked to anyone. Well, other than with Freeya’s mother.”

“She’s a first-class bitch in my book.” I won’t give away any confidences Brax told me, but I will voice my opinion to Kimberly on the woman.

Kimberly nods in agreement. “I don’t know the whole story, but not being in Freeya’s life is her loss. The point I am trying to get across is that Brax doesn’t have a type.”

I shake my head; it doesn’t matter. “He’s not looking, Kimberly. His only focus is on raising his daughter and his work. He doesn’t have the time or inclination to have a relationship.”

She gives me a double nudge with her shoulder and a wink. “Who said anything about a relationship?”

I chuckle at her boldness and shrug by way of answering. Dipping my brush back in the pumpkin paint, I remember my earlier almost-encounter with Brax. The disappointment of waking and discovering it hadn’t been real still weighs my body down. I was primed for release.

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