Bedroom Eyes by Desiree Holt

Author:Desiree Holt [Holt, Desiree]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Ellora's Cave Publishing Inc
Published: 2011-09-26T19:42:15+00:00

Chapter Five

Bridget opened one eye and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. One o’clock.

Holy shit!

She’d slept half the day away. But then she’d really needed it. She certainly hadn’t gotten much the night before. Her muscles protested when she stretched, another reminder of the previous night’s activities. But a pleasant reminder. Oh, yeah. Much more than pleasant.

Closing her eyes she recalled the feel of Clay’s masculine hands on her body, his hot mouth coaxing responses from her body. His thick cock filling her and stretching her as he rode her to one explosive climax after another. One hand slipped beneath the waistband of the yoga pants she was still wearing and found her pussy already damp as memories blasted at her.

Taking a deep breath she stroked herself slowly, pretending it was Clay’s hand in her pants. On her flesh. She slid her fingers along the inner lips the way he had, moving them up and down, capturing her clit between the knuckles.

Oh, Clay!

She stroked herself, slowly at first, then faster, rubbing her clit in a swift, circular motion. More, more, more. Her other hand moved under her t-shirt to find a nipple already hard and needy. As her hand moved more rapidly on her clit she pinched and squeezed her nipple. Her mind called up Clay’s face, not as it had been when it was mostly hidden by his pirate’s mask but as she remembered its familiar planes and angles from all the times she’d seen him.

Her hand moved faster and then she was there. Right there! She jackknifed on the bed, shoving three fingers into her cunt and riding them as she pinched her nipple. Hard.

She pulled her hand from her yoga pants, spent and trembling, and loosened her grip on her nipple. Panting, she lay in the afterglow, wishing with all her might that it had been Clay’s hands on her body. Clay bringing her to orgasm.

But of course it wasn’t. He wasn’t about to be lying next to her again, any more than she was going to realize her dream of being a writer full-time and introducing herself in public. For some people dreams never got to be a reality.

She dragged herself out of bed and grabbed her laptop from her desk. She picked up the newspaper on her way into the kitchen and scanned the headlines while she waited for her coffee to brew. Then she took everything to the small table in the breakfast nook.

“Email first,” she mumbled, opening the computer and booting it up.

Her family was scattered everywhere and email was the glue binding them together. Okay, first her brother stationed in Iraq. She emailed him every day, knowing whenever he could access email he hungered for the messages from his family. Then her sister, living in California with her husband, who managed actors and actresses. And did a damn good job of it, as far as she could tell.

Next came the weekly newsletter from her mother, from Vermont where Bridget’s father was on the faculty of a small but exclusive liberal arts college.

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