The C Word by Mindy Klasky

Author:Mindy Klasky
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Peabridge Press

31

KATIE

I woke just before my alarm went off. As I stretched for my phone, I felt a pleasant pull in my thighs, an echo of my tension the night before, as my toes had literally curled from the intensity of my orgasms.

Chalk up another win for the Professor.

Before last night, I’d never considered my phone an invaluable sex toy. In fact, I’d always rolled my eyes at scenes in books and movies where hot couples got each other off solely by the seductive tone of their voices.

Okay. Voices hadn’t been the only thing in play last night. My wrist twinged, complaining about the most delicious repetitive stress injury I’d ever given myself.

Pushing back my covers, I eyed my clothes on the bedroom floor. My fleece was at the bottom of the pile, the first garment I’d shimmied out of as Jason raised the thermostat. My yoga pants had gone next. My bright blue sports bra was tangled into a ball—I’d lied about going braless. And my practical cotton undies were hardly the seductive lingerie I’d described.

A bit of fantasy never did any harm. Speaking of fantasy… I rubbed my sore wrist, imagining that my fingertips found welts from knotted silk. I’d never let anyone tie me up before, not in real life. I was a little surprised by how excited the idea had made me.

And by how loud I’d been when I came.

My gaze fell on the baby monitor, and a flicker of panic twisted my belly. What if the device had malfunctioned? What if it had somehow worked in reverse, transmitting every single sound I’d made last night, sending my filthy words and thoughts and deeds into the unit on Angel’s dresser?

I glanced at my bedroom door. At least I’d had the sense to close it before I called Jason.

My throat was bone dry, as if I’d run a marathon in my sleep. I could remember crying out more than once, testifying to my faith in God, Jesus, and Jason, not necessarily in that order.

If Angel had heard…

I made short work of pulling on clean clothes, washing up, and scurrying upstairs, intending to collect the newspaper from the front porch before I started making breakfast. Angel already waited at the kitchen table.

“Morning,” I said, swallowing the “good” that would have made a proper greeting. I avoided looking at my grandmother directly, but a definite chill emanated from her zip-up chenille robe. Maybe that was just Lucifer, broadcasting her evil aura from Angel’s lap. “Toast okay?”

“Toast is fine,” my grandmother said, pursing her lips like the Queen of England.

What the hell did she want? It wasn’t like either of us would be pleased if I tried to deliver Eggs Benedict or Quiche Lorraine.

I loaded four pieces of bread into the toaster and pressed the starter button with grim precision before I had the nerve to ask, “Did you sleep well?” I’d started each morning with the same question since I’d assumed my role of nurse and helpmate, but now the words were a hell of a lot more loaded.

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