Page 20 of Curious Hearts (The Healing Hearts #2)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jessica lay awake in the darkness of Vivian’s—no, her—bedroom, staring at the ceiling.
Empress had eventually wandered off, leaving Jessica to close up the house and attempt sleep.
But that wasn’t happening. Her mind replayed moments from the evening on an endless loop: Ali’s hands confidently wielding tools, the brush of their shoulders as they worked side by side, that brief touch before Ali left.
Her body hummed with a restless energy she couldn’t dispel.
She shifted beneath the sheets, uncomfortably aware of how long it had been since her body had experienced this particular tension.
Not since before moving into this house.
Not with this level of intensity since Sarah, if she was being truthful.
With a frustrated sigh, Jessica reached for her phone, checking the time: one seventeen a.m. She had a nine o’clock meeting tomorrow and needed sleep. But first, she needed relief from this maddening awareness that had settled low in her belly.
She stared at the closed bedroom door. She’d forgotten to use the towel blockade tonight, too distracted by thoughts of Ali to remember her nightly ritual.
Any of the cats could wander in, though they seemed to prefer their new shelves to her bed.
Still, the thought of an audience, even a feline one, gave her pause.
“This is ridiculous,” she whispered to herself. “It’s your house.”
Decision made, she reached for the bedside drawer, hesitating only briefly before sliding it open. The small black case was exactly where she’d unpacked it weeks ago, untouched since her arrival. She withdrew it, feeling slightly self-conscious, as if the house itself might judge her.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Vivian,” she murmured with a wry smile, pulling the comforter up a little higher, despite being alone. “But I’m sure you’d understand.”
Jessica settled back against the pillows, closing her eyes as she let her mind drift.
She tried to focus on abstract sensations, her usual approach, but found herself instead conjuring the image of Ali—her easy smile, those capable hands, the warmth in her eyes when she’d looked at Jessica across the dinner table.
She slipped her hand beneath the comforter, grazing her stomach before moving lower. The small, curved vibrator—small yet powerful, discreet, and exactly what she needed. Well, almost. She switched it on, the quiet hum barely audible in the stillness of the room.
Sliding her hand under the waistband of her shorts and down between her thighs, she felt how ready she already was, her body responding instantly to her touch. It had been too long since she’d allowed herself this release, too long since she’d acknowledged her own needs.
She circled the vibrator against herself, finding the rhythm that always worked, her mind filling with possibilities: Ali’s hands instead of her own, Ali’s body pressed against hers, Ali’s lips on her neck, her breasts, lower...
Her breath quickened as she imagined Ali there with her, the weight of her body, the heat of her skin.
Her fantasy took shape with surprising vividness—Ali kissing her way down Jessica’s body, settling between her legs, those skilled fingers that had so confidently installed shelves now touching her.
Jessica pushed the comforter lower, the room suddenly rising in temperature, no longer concerned with potential observers.
She slipped her other hand beneath her silk cami, caressing her breast, imagining Ali’s touch, Ali’s mouth.
Ali’s tongue. The sensations intensified as she pressed the vibrator more firmly against her most sensitive spot.
Her hips lifted from the bed, seeking more pressure, more contact, as her fantasy grew more vivid—Ali’s mouth replacing the vibrator, her tongue moving in patterns that made Jessica gasp, her fingers pushing inside, knowing exactly how to touch her.
“Ali,” she whispered, the name escaping before she could stop it.
The tension peaked, then broke in a rush of release that left her shuddering, one hand clutching at the sheets, the other still holding the vibrator as aftershocks rippled through her body.
She switched it off only when the sensation became too much, her skin too hypersensitive to touch in the aftermath.
As her breathing steadied, Jessica opened her eyes to the familiar shadows of her bedroom. The fantasy receded, leaving her with a clarity that was both satisfying and unsettling.
She was infatuated with Ali Ritchie.
The realization wasn’t exactly shocking—she’d been dancing around it for days—but acknowledging it made it real in a way she wasn’t prepared to handle. Infatuation led to vulnerability, vulnerability led to potential hurt, and Jessica Taylor did not welcome either.
Yet as she lay, she couldn’t summon her usual defenses. The memory of Ali’s smile, of her laugh, of that final touch on Jessica’s shoulder, lingered pleasantly in her mind.
She was in trouble, and she knew it.
A soft thump at the foot of the bed announced Mr. Darcy’s arrival. The black cat padded up the comforter, fixing her with his usual inscrutable stare before settling into a tight circle near her feet.
“Not a word about this,” she told him solemnly before she drifted off to sleep.