Chapter One
Lucy Lawson laid her head back against the bath and let the hot water envelop her restless body. Tension thrummed through her muscles, making her twist this way then that in a useless attempt to get comfortable.
Several deep breaths did not help. Neither did a slow count to twenty. Frustration made her scrunch her nose and clench her jaw.
Once again she tried to ignore the obvious, tried to pretend her feelings hadn’t changed, but all the effort made no difference. For months she’d known everything had shifted for her—although she’d hidden that knowledge as carefully as she could.
Lucy flexed her shoulders, stretching them and pushing her chest upwards in the process. Instead of loosening the tension like she’d hoped, it only increased it. Her breasts jutted through the warmth of the water, making contact with the room-temperature air, and her nipples stiffened and beaded in response.
Blaming something as innocuous as air on her nipple stand was absurd. The temperature of the elements had nothing to do with it. No, Lucy’s breasts responded to the slightest stimulant in the most erotic way because she lived in an almost permanent state of sexual awareness—with no outlet for her frustration.
She ran a palm over one breast, attempting to soothe the ache, but the touch only tightened her nipple further, sending a jolt of desire straight through to her pussy.
Rolling her hips and clenching her thighs did not ease the tension. They sent swirls of warm water churning over her groin, caressing her lower lips and her clit, increasing her arousal.
Lucy sighed, or maybe moaned, and stopped fighting the ache. It would just continue to grow, continue to haunt her. When she headed out tonight, she did not need to be a livewire ready to spark at the slightest provocation.
She trailed the hand on her breast down over her belly and lower, bringing it to rest on her pubic bone. Her breath shortened and her eyes closed. Liquid heat filled her pussy, and she brushed her finger over her hairless mound, seeking her swollen clit.
Contact took her breath altogether, and she pressed down, allowing herself the pressure her body craved.
Relief swept through her. Relief and yearning.
Yes, she touched herself. Yes, it felt good, but no, it wasn’t what she wanted. Wasn’t who she wanted caressing her most intimate body parts. Her hand wasn’t the reason she spent sleepless nights tossing in bed, shoving thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking from her mind.
Her hand, helpful as it might be, wasn’t the cause of her endless frustration or arousal. And though it felt good now, rubbing over her clit, manipulating it in just the right way to make her stomach contract, it could not provide what she really longed for. Who she really longed for.
Sebastian Blackford.
Marketing executive at a Sydney-based TV ad agency, close friend and all-round cool guy.
His face filled her mind, his eyes so blue they left her dazzled. His nose, slightly crooked from the time he stopped a cricket ball with it, so familiar and so…sexy. And his lips. His full, red lips that curved into his gorgeous smile, one he flashed at her all the time.
It seemed ridiculous that after knowing that face for so long, it now filled her waking thoughts and drifted through her dreams.
It was his hair that had done it. His hair that had changed the whole situation. Once dark, lush and thick, with locks that fell down to his shoulders and over his forehead, now it was the polar opposite—startling in its absence. He’d shaved it off. Vowed never to be one of those men who pathetically held on to their balding tresses, and sheared off every last strand.
Rather than leaving his scalp looking stark and empty, it had given him an edge so sensual, Lucy had struggled to breathe the first time she’d seen the new Sebastian. Struggled to find her center and balance herself.
Usually Seb was her center, her balance. But at that moment, he’d pulled the rug
Lucy Lawson laid her head back against the bath and let the hot water envelop her restless body. Tension thrummed through her muscles, making her twist this way then that in a useless attempt to get comfortable.
Several deep breaths did not help. Neither did a slow count to twenty. Frustration made her scrunch her nose and clench her jaw.
Once again she tried to ignore the obvious, tried to pretend her feelings hadn’t changed, but all the effort made no difference. For months she’d known everything had shifted for her—although she’d hidden that knowledge as carefully as she could.
Lucy flexed her shoulders, stretching them and pushing her chest upwards in the process. Instead of loosening the tension like she’d hoped, it only increased it. Her breasts jutted through the warmth of the water, making contact with the room-temperature air, and her nipples stiffened and beaded in response.
Blaming something as innocuous as air on her nipple stand was absurd. The temperature of the elements had nothing to do with it. No, Lucy’s breasts responded to the slightest stimulant in the most erotic way because she lived in an almost permanent state of sexual awareness—with no outlet for her frustration.
She ran a palm over one breast, attempting to soothe the ache, but the touch only tightened her nipple further, sending a jolt of desire straight through to her pussy.
Rolling her hips and clenching her thighs did not ease the tension. They sent swirls of warm water churning over her groin, caressing her lower lips and her clit, increasing her arousal.
Lucy sighed, or maybe moaned, and stopped fighting the ache. It would just continue to grow, continue to haunt her. When she headed out tonight, she did not need to be a livewire ready to spark at the slightest provocation.
She trailed the hand on her breast down over her belly and lower, bringing it to rest on her pubic bone. Her breath shortened and her eyes closed. Liquid heat filled her pussy, and she brushed her finger over her hairless mound, seeking her swollen clit.
Contact took her breath altogether, and she pressed down, allowing herself the pressure her body craved.
Relief swept through her. Relief and yearning.
Yes, she touched herself. Yes, it felt good, but no, it wasn’t what she wanted. Wasn’t who she wanted caressing her most intimate body parts. Her hand wasn’t the reason she spent sleepless nights tossing in bed, shoving thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking from her mind.
Her hand, helpful as it might be, wasn’t the cause of her endless frustration or arousal. And though it felt good now, rubbing over her clit, manipulating it in just the right way to make her stomach contract, it could not provide what she really longed for. Who she really longed for.
Sebastian Blackford.
Marketing executive at a Sydney-based TV ad agency, close friend and all-round cool guy.
His face filled her mind, his eyes so blue they left her dazzled. His nose, slightly crooked from the time he stopped a cricket ball with it, so familiar and so…sexy. And his lips. His full, red lips that curved into his gorgeous smile, one he flashed at her all the time.
It seemed ridiculous that after knowing that face for so long, it now filled her waking thoughts and drifted through her dreams.
It was his hair that had done it. His hair that had changed the whole situation. Once dark, lush and thick, with locks that fell down to his shoulders and over his forehead, now it was the polar opposite—startling in its absence. He’d shaved it off. Vowed never to be one of those men who pathetically held on to their balding tresses, and sheared off every last strand.
Rather than leaving his scalp looking stark and empty, it had given him an edge so sensual, Lucy had struggled to breathe the first time she’d seen the new Sebastian. Struggled to find her center and balance herself.
Usually Seb was her center, her balance. But at that moment, he’d pulled the rug
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