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He’s never called me that.
I should be trying to sleep, but the sure way to release my tension—theonlyway lately—is to give in to my fantasies about John with my fingers sinking into the wet heat between my legs.
I wish he were here.
“Yes, John. Right there. Please,” I whisper as I stroke myself.
I’m lost in my thoughts about him, my body steaming under the blanket, my fingers feverishly rubbing out the ache, when a barely audible sound that doesn’t belong in my room makes my eyes snap open in the dark.
I gasp in momentary panic at the large shadow by the bed.
“Easy,” the low voice calms me. John’s.
The moonlight is so bright that I can see his sparkling eyes on me, a tiny smile on his lips, and the razor-sharp reflection of the moonlight on his dog tag. The tattoos covering his glorious shirtless body are like black vines.
He is only in his boxers.
He’s here.
He sets his knee on the bed, the mattress dipping, and slowly tugs the blanket off me, uncovering my bare legs and thighs and my hand, clutching my shirt between them.
His gaze drops to my hand, then up my body, his large body looming over me as I lie vulnerable and exposed.
“Were you thinking about me, Em?” he drawls.
My breath hitches. “N-no?”
“No? That’s disappointing. Then I’m in the wrong place.”
But he doesn’t move.
“I was,” I whisper, swallowing hard and burning with shame.
He leans onto his hands. “You were? I hoped so. And were your naughty fingers touching yourself when you thought of me?”
He crawls between my legs, and I open them wider, inviting him in, letting go of my shirt that starts riding up, letting him know that I’m not wearing panties.
John’s eyes dip to between my legs. “Show me how you missed me, Em,” he drawls. “Bring your pretty fingers back to where they were and play with yourself. Don’t be shy, baby. I want you as enthusiastic as you are when your door is locked.”
He knows!
“Why would you think I did that?” I murmur as his fingers reach the strap of my shirt and pull it down, exposing my breasts.
“Because you smell like sex, Em.” He pulls the other strap down, tugging my shirt down to my waist. “And I want you to smell like sexandme.”
His face dips, and he places a soft kiss on my nipple, then flicks his tongue against it, setting my body on edge.
His fingers slide to the hem of my shirt and push it up as he lowers his head and kisses my stomach, then kisses lower, lower still, until his lips are exactly where my hand was just minutes ago.
“Would you like my lips right here? That little nub is calling my name. I think it’s time we made a closer acquaintance, baby.”
He pauses.
I hold my breath.
“I need you to answer, Em.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
