Page 118 of Dirty Husband

Soft fabric against my skin. Thick. Sturdy.

It's like he's the one touching me.

My breath leaves my body as I step into my bedroom.

The air is crackling with electricity. Everything is charged.

The hardwood floor is smoother. The silk robe is sleeker. The night sky is bluer.

I press my knees together, trying to contain the anticipation coursing through me.

It's not enough.

My sex is already aching.

It's hard to believe we had sex earlier today. The memory of bliss is crystal clear, but I'm still desperately in need.

Like it's been a million years since anyone has touched me properly.

I pull my robe a little farther down my thighs. Tie it a little tighter.

But I don't feel right covering up.

I want to be exposed. I want to drive him as crazy as he drives me.

I undo the sash. Let the smooth fabric roll over my thighs and breasts.

It falls outside my hips. It leaves my body on display for him. My breasts, stomach, pelvis, thighs.

Then I spread my legs a little wider, so I can show him everything.

It makes me achier. Emptier. I need him touching me, holding me, fucking me.

I need him looking at me, his blue eyes wide, his lips parting with a groan.

It's strange. I've never needed someone looking at me before. But I need it so badly I can taste it.

The air buzzes as footsteps move closer.

A hard knock.

The door opens.

Shep steps inside. He moves down the short hallway, into the main room.

Closer to the bed.

Only five feet away.

He's in his suit and tie, but he's not a buttoned-up businessman. No, right now he's wild and fierce.

Barely contained.

Ready to use me however he sees fit.

It should scare me. Instead, it makes my sex clench.

Use me, baby. Make me your toy. Fuck me until I can't breathe.