Page 41 of Sassy Love
Heat sinks low in my belly.
Apparently, yoga not only loosens up your muscles, but it also destroys your sanity and rational thinking with its twisty ways. Because where the hell did that come from?
And why the hell is Vinny still in my bag and not in my damn hand?
My fingers gravitate to my now-hard nipple.
Maybe I should get it out of my system before he comes back. Leaning on the warm tile, I slide a hand over my stomach to my throbbing apex. With the first brush of my fingertip over my clit, I arch off the wall, tempted to pad back to the room to grab Vinny.
But my window of solitude this morning is closing, and I need this over and done with.
Pinching my aching nipple, I sink two fingers into my pussy.
“Oh god above,” I mutter into the steam.
It’s been ages since I got laid.
I should have taken care of this before I left. Now I’m stuck in this tiny bungalow with the last person I want to be thinking about while I’m grinding over my own hand.
As the telltale spiral of bliss unravels and I come hard and fast, I can’t help the string of throaty sounds that slip past my lips.
My breathing settles and I wash up, rewashing my hair for good measure before shutting off the water. Stepping out onto the bathmat, I squint through the steam, doing a double take at the empty towel rack.
Urgh, the no-towel curse of the couples suite.
I swear this old hut is conspiring against us.
I pad to the bedroom to grab one from the end of the bed that was made while we were at yoga. But the bed is suspiciously empty. Save for a handwritten note.
I pick it up.
Carlie & Lawson,
My apologies, we ran short on towels. I will send some with Manuel at lunchtime.
So sorry!
Elizabeth
(Your friendly housekeeper);)
For fuck’s sake.
Sorry to break it to you, Elizabeth, but there is no Carlie and Lawson.I drop the note on the bed as a noise comes from just outside. Dripping wet with nothing but the pillows at my left orthe entire bedspread to cover myself with, I stand frozen for a heartbeat. I scramble for something to shield against the person on the other side of the door that I’m assuming is Rawlins.
His key slides into the lock.
The image conjured by the sound shouldn’t exist. It really shouldn’t.
The lock clicks.
The doorknob turns.
The door cracks open.
Breaths come short and choppy as I alternate between standing my naked ground and owning this or cowering behind... his throw blanket. It’s draped over the chair by the bags.
Could I get there and back in time and cover up before he sees the true Carlie Lamont?
