Page 91 of Fragile Sanctuary

Anson chuckled against my flesh, his fingers still moving, teasing, thrusting. “Now you know what it’s like, watching you move around in those fucking shorts. Making me dream of having you but knowing I can’t, shouldn’t.”

I let out a growl of frustration. “Looks like you’ve got me now.”

His fingers curled. “You make me break all the rules.”

Anson’s lips closed around that bundle of nerves, sucking deeply as the tip of his tongue worked my clit.

There was no prayer of holding back. As his fingers pressed that spot somewhere deep inside, I shattered. The little pieces of tape and glue I’d used to hold myself together fractured in a heartbeat.

The only thing that existed was feeling. Wave after wave of sensation. I lost myself in it, finally letting go completely.

Just as I thought I was coming down, Anson built me back up. But it was only to let me crash again in a cascade of light and color.

Finally, his ministrations eased, his tongue retreated, and he lifted me from above him. My chest heaved, but it was more. Something had shifted inside me. Something fundamental. As if I’d realized I was still holding back from life in certain ways. But Anson made me want to smash those walls.

He stared at me, his eyes still hazy with lust and need. “One hell of a breakfast.”

I gaped at him, then grinned. I reached for the waistband of his joggers, but then my doorbell rang. I froze.

Anson groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

A laugh bubbled out of me as I scrambled off the bed, grabbing my robe. Biscuit was already barking his head off from the living room.

“Rho,” a voice called.

“That’s Owen,” Anson grumbled as he got out of bed. “Cockblock.”

I glanced down at Anson’s obvious hard-on. “You might want to stay back here, buddy. You could put someone’s eye out with that thing.”

Anson only scowled. “I’m gonna kill him.”

I patted Anson’s chest. “Let’s try to save murder for after seven a.m., okay?”

He didn’t say anything, but I headed for the door. Biscuit was instantly at my side as I pulled my robe on. I scratched his head. “It’s okay. Just a friend.”

Biscuit let out what sounded like a grumble.

I held his collar with one hand and opened the door with the other.

Owen frowned down at Biscuit, his gaze roaming over my robe-covered frame. “Sorry. Did I wake you? You’re usually up and going by this time.”

I did my best not to flush. “Little bit of a later start.”

“Have you seen Anson? His truck’s here, but I can’t find him anywhere.”

I cleared my throat. “He crashed on my couch last night. He’s just grabbing a shower.”

Owen’s expression went blank as he took me in with new eyes. And I knew what he likely saw: the hair a mess, flushed cheeks.Hell.I hoped he didn’t say anything to Shep.

A muscle fluttered in Owen’s jaw. “Right. Well, tell him the rest of the crew is arriving. We’re supposed to start at seven-thirty.”

He turned on his heel and stalked off toward the Victorian.

Biscuit let out a low growl at my side. I tugged him back inside, groaning. Sometimes, knowing just about everyone in your smalltown was the worst. Shep’s whole crew saw me as a little sister they thought they needed to protect.

I released Biscuit and headed back down the hall to find Anson had, in fact, taken a shower. He was dressed again, a tee pulling tightly across his broad chest—an expanse my fingers itched to roam over. His hair appeared darker in its wet state, and the glower on his face had him looking every inch the avenging angel.

I bit my bottom lip. “How was the shower?”

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