BOOK TWO in the STEAMY FORBIDDEN ROMANCE series -- please read BOOK ONE, Illicit, before proceeding with this novel!
Coralie Watson, now living in NYC to focus on her singer/songwriter career, has landed herself in quite the predicament. Stuck in a...
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🔥STEAMY ALERT—very mild 🔥
♫ You don't even have a clue Of all the things I'm doing to you ♪ (Vera Blue—Private)
The dampness in Coralie's underwear the next morning might have been left-over from last night with Michael. But it might have come from the intense wet dream she'd had about Chester, too. She could have sworn she still felt his chafed hands over her mouth when she woke to her Thirty Seconds to Mars alarm. And his chest clapping against hers, his sweat smearing onto her skin, his teeth nibbling her lips as he moaned her name. And his thrusts, savage and sensual all at once, prompting her to zone in and out of consciousness, drowning in waves of pleasure.
The dream had been so vigorous, so realistic, that as she turned off her alarm, she instinctively checked to her left, where she'd remembered Chester laying to take her from behind. Michael had been snoozing to her right, immobile as Chester pounded, pounded, pounded, rattling the bed so much the frame nearly shattered. Dream Michael hadn't reacted. And somehow real Michael hadn't either, despite the groans Coralie must have emitted in her sleep as the fantasy played out in her mind.
Now, Michael snored softly beside her, unfazed by her alarm's blaring rock music. How peaceful he appeared as his naked chest crept up and down, and he breathed in and out, and his eyelids fluttered.
As Coralie turned off her second alarm, five minutes later, she found two text messages waiting for her. And of course, they were from the two men she didn't want Michael to find out about.
RyRy: Is it done yet? Can you come over here? We need to talk.
He'd sent it in the middle of the night, as if expecting Coralie would end things with Michael a few hours after he showed up. As if he'd paid no attention to her warnings for him to leave her the hell alone and let her take care of the situation at her own pace.
"What an asshole," she whispered as she deleted the text message, unwilling to address his rudeness. She'd told him she'd do what she pleased, and yet he still insisted she do things his way?
How dare he?
She hesitated to open the second text message—from Chester—wary of what it would say. With him, it could be anything; wishing her goodnight, asking for another coffee date, or a straight-up "dick pic"—and she couldn't lie, she wouldn't be super disappointed if it was the latter. But not with Michael next to her, able to peer over and witness it and watch his entire world crumble.
Inclining the phone away from him, but unable to move farther as his legs were woven around hers, she took a deep breath. She clicked on the message and gulped.
Chess: Have any good dreams last night?
She caught herself before jolting out of bed and screaming.
