Page 19 of Twisted Devotion

You know me. I won’t.

I toss my phone to the end of the bed and get up to change into my sleep clothes. I step into the walk-in closet and pull an emerald silk set out of the wardrobe. After I’ve changed into the tank top and shorts, I pop into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth before crawling under the covers.

I turn the television off and roll onto my side. Closing my eyes, I steady my breathing and try to relax. Here’s hoping, with last night’s restless sleep, that tonight is better. I’d rather not go to the facility tomorrow exhausted.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling as the clock on the nightstand ticks the minutes away. My nerves are all wired with pent up energy and frustration—most of it toward Jackson. It’s such a damn shame that someone so attractive is so irritating. I’d love nothing more than to put him in his place, seven ways to Sunday.

My lower stomach clenches and warms simultaneously, sending a loud and clear message to my nipples, making them harden and tingle.

This is not happening.I amnotgetting turned on thinking about Jackson Hawthorne.

Son of a bitch, I totally am.

I want to roll over and scream into my pillow. More than that, I want to slip my fingers past the waistband of my shorts and ease the friction gathering between my legs. I bite my lip, not sure if I’m trying to talk myself into it or out of it.

Before I come to a definite conclusion, my hand is already cupping my mound. I turn my head into the pillow to muffle the groan that escapes my lips. It’s been awhile since I’ve done . . .this, but my body sure as hell remembers what it feels like when I do.

I take it slow, wanting to draw out the hazy sensation I know is coming. I trail my fingers along my thigh, gently dragging them back and forth across my skin until it breaks out in goosebumps, making me shiver. I press my thumb softly against the bundle of nerves at my center and slide a single digit past my folds, grazing them leisurely. I suck in a breath as a hot wave of pleasure runs through me.

“Oh god,” I mutter to myself. I should not be doing this here. And yet, I don’t stop. I pull my thumb back and circle my clit hard and fast, not stopping until I’m panting.

My breath catches when I pick up sounds I most definitely shouldn’t be overhearing from another room.

Evidently, Jackson is as frustrated as I am.

Holy shit.

I can’t stop listening to the deep grunts and soft groans. I can’t stop stroking myself, either. With my free hand, I reach up and pinch my nipple, rolling it between my fingers as I add a second finger inside my core and pump faster.

At some point, I stop trying to muffle the sounds I’m making. My heavy breathing and moans fill the room, and the sounds that Jackson is making only pushes me faster to the edge.

I hear a deepfuckfrom his room in the same moment I clench around my fingers.

All of a sudden, it becomes a race to see who will finish first with the other listening.

My fingers are moving so fast, my wrist starts to tingle and my other arm drops to the mattress to grip the sheets. With one final tweak of my clit, I moan loudly and come apart.

As I lie in the mess of sheets I created, catching my breath, there’s a brief moment of silence.

And then Jackson chuckles.

7

When my alarm wakes me the next morning, all I can think about is last night. I can’t believe it happened. I can’t believe I want it to happenagain. We weren’t even in the same room and we drove each other over the edge. Well, at least he did me.

Oh god.What if that was completely one-sided? There’s no way. Still, doubt trickles in and latches on like seaweed to swimmers in a lake. I hate that I’m bothered by this. I was the one who told him that I’d never sleep in his bed. I figured that made it clear I wasn’t interested in anything recreational with him.

I shouldn’t be bothered by this. Ican’tbe bothered by this.

Tiptoeing downstairs into the kitchen, I’m relieved to find it empty. I’m not sure what days Gloria works, but she isn’t around, so I help myself to the coffeemaker. I fill the water section and scoop coffee grounds into the filter before turning it on. Before long, the kitchen fills with the most amazing aroma known to, well, me.

I lean against the counter and stare at the pot as it brews, the scent alone scaring away the yawns and encouraging my eyes to stay open.

“I thought I smelled coffee.”

I freeze at the sound of Jackson’s voice. My breathing halts as I feel him—literally feel him—walk closer. The air around me gets thick and my pulse quickens in response, my entire body going on high alert.

“Good morning,” he says in a voice still gruff with sleep as he reaches past me into the cupboard above my head and pulls down two mugs.

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