“Jesus, Blake.” His agonized groan sent a thrill spiraling through her body.
“You want me, don’t you?” She slid her free hand up and down the side of her hip, the silk of her gown soft and sleek against her palm.
She wished it was Mason’s big hands touching her. Tugging the nightgown off with that focused intensity that aroused her so much, his fingers searching her skin, cupping her breasts, sliding between her legs.
The fresh surge of moisture flooding her sex was unmistakable.
“This isn’t right.”
“Too late for right or wrong, Mason. It’s already happening.” She paused and peered out the window. “Where are you? I can’t see you.”
“In bed.”
Those two words sent a thrill chasing down her spine. She propped a hand against the window frame, studying the single lit window directly across from her. What did he wear when he went to bed? Actual pajamas?
Nah. Underwear and a T-shirt? Hmm, no T-shirt, she’d guess. Maybe he wore nothing at all.
That particular image made her mouth go dry.
“You should be asleep,” he continued. “Tucked in and with the lights off. Go to bed, Blake.”
“I really like it when you say my name,” she confessed. She did. He didn’t say it often enough.
“Get some sleep.” He paused, she heard his sharp inhale, as if he searched for some sort of control. Oh, that shouldn’t excite her, but it did. “I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
“Actually I’m not tired at all.” Licking her lips, she lowered her voice seductively. “Do you want to watch me? You can look but not touch. I don’t mind.”
Fine, she did mind. She’d prefer if he touched her. Run those big, capable hands all over body, but she’d settle for this. For now.
“I don’t think...”
“That’s your problem,” she interrupted. “You’re too busy thinking.” And for once in her life, she wasn’t thinking at all. Maybe a mistake, but she didn’t care. “Let your mind go, Mason, and watch.”
He didn’t say a word and she slid her free hand back up, over her stomach, her ribs, cupping her left breast. The bit of lace at the bodice rasped against her sensitive skin and she shivered.
She shrugged the shoulder strap off and slipped her hand beneath the sagging fabric of the nightgown, brushing her fingers against her distended nipple. Gooseflesh dotted her skin and her knees wobbled at the thought of him watching her.
God, what would it be like to have Mason actually touch her?
“I’m imagining it’s your hands on me,” she confessed, lightly pinching her nipple. The little gasp of pleasure that escaped her was unmistakable.
“Blake, my God, you need to stop.” He sounded like a dying man. But that was all right, since she was dying too.
“I don’t want to stop.”
“You have to. This is getting way out of control.” He hung up on her, the unmistakable click sounding loud and clear. Too loud and clear.
She threw the phone down onto her bed, watching as it bounced. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and she shook her head, refusing to let them fall.
Damn it, she wanted to be sexy and seductive. Instead, she’d just made a complete fool of herself. What must he think of her? That she was foolish and wasting her time? Wasting his time too?
He could’ve hung up from the get go if he really hadn’t wanted to see her, talk to her. At least that’s what she told herself.
Minor comfort in what was going to be a long night.
Mason reached over and turned off the lamp. Lying flat on his back, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing, his cock aching.
Watching Blake touch herself had nearly been his undoing. Not as if he’d really seen anything, though Christ, how he wished.