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I laugh. In dog years, sheisa teenager.
I head upstairs alone. Checking my phone, I see that it’s only seven. Abel said he wouldn’t be home until late, so I’m probably fine leaving my doors open. This way the dogs will be able to come hang out with me in case they get bored or lonely.
The breath leaves my lungs when I walk into the primary bath and glance at the huge window above the bathtub. I was right—the view from up here isbananas. The marsh is lit up in shades of gold and amber, the sky darkening to purple at the edges. A breeze rustles the tall grass. The water’s surface is a kaleidoscope of small, iridescent ripples.
I draw a hot bath, steam rising off the water. I can’t find any bubble bath or Epsom salts, so I squeeze some of my body wash into the running tap. It doesn’t bubble up, but it does smell good.
I’ve already read my client Olivia’sMan Down. But she kindly gifted me an audiobook credit so I could listen to it. I pop in my earbuds, hit play, and climb into the tub, my glass of wine within easy reach on the nearby vanity.
I’m on cloud nine.
Especially when the narrator, a guy with a special talent for British accents, purrs filthy nothings into my ears.
Kicking myself for not listening to romance audiobooks sooner, I sip my wine and melt into the heat of the water. Every so often I pluck an earbud out of my ear and listen for the dogs.
Nothing. Not so much as a peep. Bet they fell asleep downstairs.
I sink deeper into the water as the light outside the window fades. I have no idea how much time passes. I only know that I’m tired, a little sunburnt, and a lot turned on.
What the hell am I going to do about my very inconvenient attraction to Abel? How long, exactly, will Dad be in treatment, and by extension, how long is this fake marriage going to last? WillIlast that long without combusting and/or humiliating myself?
The narrator is on the infamous blow job scene now. It’s absurdly hot. Explicit. Made even more so by the narrator’s silky smooth delivery of lines like, “Come, Archibald, show me how good you can swallow this cum. Show me how fuckinggoodyou can do it.”
It’s so hot I almost can’t handle it. I giggle, holding a hand over my mouth, and that’s when I hear a loudbangbehind me.
My heart jumps into my throat. Yanking the earbuds out of my ears, I sit up and whip around.
My heart straight up leaves my body when I see Abel standing in the doorway.
I’ve never seen him like this. Eyes wide. Nostrils flaring. The muscle in his jaw is flexing so hard it’s visible even through the thicket of his beard.
“Oh my God,” I manage.
But Abel just looks at me. Stares, more like it.
Specifically, he stares at my breasts. The peaks of my nipples break through the water’s surface, and I see something move across his eyes when I take a sharp inhale, pushing them up even more.
I’m vaguely aware of Cher’s and Tai’s presence at his feet, their tails wagging, collars jingling.
Silence, hot and horrible, blooms inside the room. I’m frozen in place. I need to cover myself. Explain that I kept the doors open because I thought he wouldn’t be home.
Only Abel’s eyes don’t move from my body. The look in them grows darker.
Hungrier.
Am I imagining it? I have to be imagining it.
That’s when I notice the bulge in his jeans.
The large, very visible bulge that strains against his fly.
Oh, God, I amnotimagining Abel’s version of a breeches bulge.
Longing rips through me, along with the certainty that this is it.
The moment I need to put myself out there and be honest with Abel about what I want from him.
My thoughts pound in time to my frantic heartbeat.I don’t want to be friends. I want you on me. In me. All over me.
