Prologue
I closed my eyes again, but the image of him was burned into my mind—his tall frame, the broad cut of his shoulders in that immaculate white shirt, the razor-sharp jawline and handsome, unreadable face.
At the memory, a sudden, slick heat pooled between my thighs, a warm liquid trailing downward that made me shift restlessly against the sheets. I reached down, my palm slipping beneath the hem of my silk nightgown, my fingers finding the swollen, sensitive centre of my warmth. I let out a low, shaky breath as my touch made my hips roll off the mattress.
I began to touch myself, my pace steadying as my thoughts dragged him back into the dark with me. I imagined what lay underneath that tailored suit—a body well-ripped, lean, and powerful, stripped of his usual composure. I gasped, my fingers increasing their pace, burying themselves inside my slick heat as my back arched off the bed.
The deliciousness took over my senses completely, picturing my hands buried in his platinum silver dyed hair while he drove into me, our bodies striking a fast, punishing rhythm.
This was not my first rodeo. I was a woman with needs, and I handled them with the same ruthless efficiency I brought to everything else. But I would never admit that for months, my private sexual escapades had been entirely fuelled by thoughts of Michael Blackwood. My pulse spiked, the coils of tension pulling tight until my entire body trembled on the precipice.
As the sudden, shattering climax tore through me, sending waves of pleasure rippling through my core, a single name escaped my lips in a soft, broken whisper: “Michael...”
