Page 200 of Claimed At First Sight

Until that day, though, discipline must prevail.

With a quiet curse, I rise and adjust the front of my pants. It does nothing to ease the painful pressure beneath them.

If I’m going to survive the rest of the day with her, a freezing shower is in order.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Mialina

Ishift backward in search of the solid warmth I remember surrounding me as I fell asleep, but my bottom slides across an empty stretch of cool fabric.

Frowning, I open my eyes and reach behind me, patting the space where Maximo should be.

He’s clearly not here.

I lift my head and glance around the penthouse.

Pale morning light fills the room. The fire continues to burn, keeping our nest of blankets and cushions cozy and warm.

Beyond the glass, the storm that tried to tear Chicago apart seems to have exhausted itself. The snow has stopped drifting past the windows, and the wind has fallen silent.

I push myself upright and wait for the floor to shift beneath me. When nothing happens, I remain perfectly still, concentrating on the tower, but there’s no subtle sway.

Phew, I can remove death by skyscraper from today’s schedule.

My gaze returns to the empty place beside me. The blankets are rumpled where Maximo slept, but there’s no other sign of him.

As I stare at the space he occupied not that long ago, fragments of a dream begin to resurface. My mouth moving over Maximo’s as he pressed me into the blankets. My hands beneath his shirt, exploring his bare skin.

He was so muscular beneath my palms. And then he held my wrists above my head and told me to keep my eyes on him.

A blush spreads across my face.

It all felt so real.

I did dream this, didn’t I?

There’s no possible way I kissed Maximo again, much less did everything that followed.

I was frightened, exhausted, and still half-asleep. My mind must have taken the kiss on the Ferris wheel, mixed it with being held by him all night, and created an exceptionally vivid fantasy designed to humiliate me first thing in the morning.

I tap a fingertip against my lips, trying to remember more.

Oh. No.

My lips are tender.

I brush them more deliberately. They’re definitely swollen.

Another memory returns, this one far too detailed to dismiss.

The scrape of his teeth over my lower lip. The way he looked at me while pleasure built until I thought I might come apart beneath him. The rough command in his voice when he told me to come.

My hand drifts lower, slipping beneath the waistband of my tracksuit pants. Sensitivity flares between my thighs, and when my fingers reach my panties, I find them unmistakably wet.

No.

No, no, no.