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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♫ Yeah, I get off when I see that you're in pain Want that high top or the mountain Dipping in the holy fountain ♪ (Bebe Rexha—Mine)
After her shift, Coralie drifted into her apartment, but neither Delilah nor Michael were there. Delilah's "do the thing!" note remained on the fridge, implying she hadn't returned from wherever she'd spent the night. And if Michael had wanted to come over, he'd had no one to let him in.
In reality, Coralie appreciated the solitude, the quiet. The screams in her mind were relentless all day and coming home to an empty—and non-judgmental—apartment was ideal to help her unwind and brace for her second job.
Desperate to rid her body of the toxins she was certain thoughts of Chester provoked, she showered. And though she wanted to take her time, stay under the cleansing, refreshing waters, she had to hurry. As she fumbled with a pair of underwear and a semi-comfortable bra, she found a text on her phone from Michael, stating he was out exploring and would meet with her later at the bar. "For a mocktail," he'd written, with a winky face, "and to watch you in action."
There was nothing active or even impressive about the bar work. She spent hours serving loaded drinks to potential perverts who ogled barely legal girls who shook their asses on the makeshift dance-floor. Nothing fancy or complicated, but it paid the bills.
Coralie appreciated Michael's effort to visit her despite not liking bar settings. But in truth, she hadn't thought about him much that day. Though she'd woken in his arms and drooled over his after-shower body and considered a quickie with him before she left, it was Chester who'd lodged into her mind all morning. And during her early lunch. And in her midday meeting with Nikita. Without forgetting the time when she'd almost dropped her drawers to pleasure herself after receiving a steamy text from him.
Chess: Saw you today from afar, you didn't notice me. Were you wet thinking about that dream? Dripping as you walked, wondering who else could see The ways you imagine I can make you scream?
His poetry had always captivated her, but it had never been directed at her. And she'd never read anything so hot, so flagrant, and so easy to get her horny and turned on and thirsty for him.
She'd received another excerpt later, as she exited the Lyft.
Chess: God, the way you move is so damn sensual Makes me want to follow you home Grab you and pin you against a wall Because I wanna hear you moan
It was creepy, borderline stalker-ish; but that was Chester, in a nutshell, and she was used to it. A sexy weirdo, a poetic but insane genius, a musical prodigy, a man gifted with words but preferring to speak with his filthy body under the sheets.
She fantasized so much over his messages and got so lost in her world imagining the next one he might send, when her phone vibrated, signaling a call. Without paying attention to the caller—it was likely Delilah, or Michael, and a tiny voice told her it could be Chester—she picked up, her tone too chipper considering how flustered she was. "Hello?"
