My hand slides beneath the covers, under the hem of his borrowed t-shirt. I bite my lip as my fingers find slick heat, already embarrassingly wet from just thinking about him. I should feel guilty using thoughts of him this way, but I'm too far gone to care.
I imagine it's his large, calloused hands touching me instead of my own. His mouth trailing down my neck, my chest. His weight pressing me into the mattress.
My breathing quickens as I work myself closer to release. In my mind, it's Colt whispering in my ear, telling me how beautiful I am. How much he wants me.
The tension builds faster than I expected, my hips rising to meet my hand. So close already, just from thinking about him. What would the real thing be like if just fantasizing about him does this to me?
The orgasm takes me by surprise, crashing over me in waves so intense I can't help the sound that escapes my throat. A moan that forms itself into a name without my permission.
"Colt."
As the pleasure recedes and my breathing steadies, mortification crashes in. Did I say that out loud? How loud was I? The house isn't that big. What if he heard?
A soft knock at the bedroom door answers my question.
"Savannah?" Colt's voice is rough, deeper than usual. "You okay in there?"
I freeze, face burning with embarrassment. What do I say? What do I do?
"Savannah, open the door."
It's not a request. The authority in his voice sends a fresh wave of desire through me, even as panic sets in. I scramble to pull the covers up, to find some dignity in this utterly mortifying situation.
"Savannah." His voice drops even lower. "I know you’re awake."
CHAPTER SIX
COLT
"Either you open this door, or I will."
My voice comes out rougher than intended, desire stripping away any pretense of control. I stand outside my own bedroom door, fist pressed against the wood, heart hammering against my ribs.
I shouldn't be here. Should be on the couch pretending I didn't hear her moan my name while pleasuring herself. Should be maintaining the professional distance our arrangement requires.
But I've never been good at denying what I want. And right now, I want the woman on the other side of this door more than I've wanted anything in years.
Silence stretches on the other side of the door for several heartbeats. Then I hear soft footsteps approaching. The door opens just enough for me to see Savannah standing there in my borrowed t-shirt, her hair tousled, her face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and lingering desire.
"I can explain," she starts, but her eyes drop to my chest, widening slightly when she realizes I've shed my shirt. Hertongue darts out to wet her lips, the simple gesture sending a jolt of need straight to my groin.
"No need." I keep my voice low, controlled. "I think I understand perfectly."
"This wasn't part of our deal." She doesn't back away as I step closer.
"I know." Another step. "Tell me to leave, Savannah. Tell me to go back to the couch, and we can pretend this never happened."
She looks up at me, those dark eyes swimming with the same battle I'm fighting. Logic versus desire. She opens her mouth, and for a moment, I think she's going to send me away.
Then her hand reaches for mine, tugging me into the bedroom.
"Don't make me say it," she whispers.
"Say what?" I need to hear it. Need to know she wants this as badly as I do.
"That I want you." The confession echoes what I already know. "That I've wanted you since you kissed me this morning."
I close the door behind me, never breaking eye contact. "Just since this morning?"
