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THIRTY-EIGHT
Every night she did this, though she tried to hide it. When the book turned steamy, she began to squirm until finally she gave in and pleasured herself. Usually, she fled to the bathroom, hiding it from him, but now he could see her hand slide down her body, between her legs.
He might not be able to ravish her completely, but he'd be damned if he'd watch and do nothing. Why, the heroes of her favourite books would never stand by and watch, when they might replace her hand with their own.
Whereas he was here in her bedchamber, as real as Alethia herself. Every bit as capable of bringing her pleasure as the imaginary men in her books. More so, for he was here.
Of course, he'd need to know what she liked first...but he was willing to find out.
