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Thankfully, I reach Casper’s door, and the house is as silent as mine was. I open his door and walk straight in.
Casper, sitting shirtless on his bed, startles. His eyes widen more than I’ve ever seen before. He gasps, shouting, “Ah!”and shuffles up the bed, ready to fight.
I was right, this is brilliant.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, placing his hand over his heart. “How did you get in here?”
I grin, pleased with myself. “Marvin left his keys in the kitchen. His wallet, too, but I didn’t take that.”
Casper throws his legs over the side and stands up. “Give me a second to get over the heart attack.”
I laugh, and he moves closer.
His recovery is quick as he moves in. “You should take the wallet; he keeps a lot of cash in there.”
“Next time.”
He curls his hand around my back and pulls me against his chest. I suck in a breath through my mouth, the contact creating tiny electrical shocks.
Oh, there are the abs. I run my hands down his skin and feel the bumps of his defined muscles. He groans, a shiver running through his body at the contact. He’s as reactive as I am, both of us becoming addictive to each other’s touch.
“Hello, Ainsley,” he whispers in my ear.
“Hello, Casper.”
He curls his hand around my back while the other slides up into my hair, wrapping around the long strands. “I need you so bad,” he murmurs against my throat.
“I can feel,” I reply, smirking at his erection pressing into my stomach.
“You’re coming on my fingers first.”
“Fine by me.”
I moan loudly, knowing I need to stay quiet but not being able to because he slides his hand between my legs. “Casper.”
“All night, sweetheart. I hope you’re not tired.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
I’m on top of the world, floating in post-orgasmic bliss as I place Marvin’s keys back on the counter and sneak upstairs an hour before sunrise. Although, I am also tired as hell because the all-night comment was not an empty promise.
We’d doze off for half an hour and then one of us would wake up—him, most of the time—and that’d be it. He was very thorough, making sure I came at least twice as many times as he did.
And I’d pegged him as a ‘take what you can get’ kind of lover.
There’s a text waiting for me as I slip into some pyjamas and climb into bed, hoping to get a couple hours of sleep before I need to be up.
Come back, I’m not finished with you.
Not finished with me. How is that possible? I don’t think I could go again. I’m sore and achy in the best ways, and I need to give my body a rest.
Go to sleep. I have a thousand things to do for the party tomorrow. Try not to have me arrested, yeah.
Hysterical. I’m busy tomorrow, but I’ll see you in your room when the boys are asleep. Night, sweetheart.
Night,sweetheart. He’s used that word before, but since the break-in it hasn’t sounded like an insult.
At some point I need to think with a clear head and not like a sex-crazed teenager.
