alarm clock, maybe, while Tigerstar used him as a climbing wall when he sat on the bed. Up down. Back and around. A paw in the face. A drawstring chase. Across his lap. A claw to the groin. A pain in the loins.
“Son of a bitch!” King shot to his feet.
Harmony buried her face in her pillow so she wouldn’t giggle. That man was not going to get any sleep tonight.
He went to the bed, whispered to the kittens, and petted them, the sneak. He liked cats. “You’re frisky little things, if you’re anything like your mama—your cat mama,” he said, “not the pretty lady who brought you here to screw with me, so let’s fool her and be friends.”
The double-crosser.
Harmony rolled over to face away from him as Paxton came her way. She did not want him to know she was awake.
“Let’s go, Trouble with a capital T ,” he said as he scooped her up and carried her to his bed.
Huh?
Did he think she was gonna sleep with him?
----
Chapter Sixteen
HARMONY rode the roller coaster of Paxton’s bare arms while he turned down the blankets on his bed and set her down beside Tigerstar and her kittens. Was he toying with her? She could go for some mutual toying with . . .
Testing the sexual waters, she rolled over, as if in her sleep, trapped him, caught him around the neck, and brought his face to hers.
She might have initiated the kiss, but he took over with gusto. Heat purled through her in rolling waves, bringing her to life and making her hungry for a whole lot more. Withering witch balls, but the man could kiss.
She moaned, and so did he, then he sat beside her to cradle her in his arms and bring the kiss to another level, raising her up, readying her for anything. When he stopped, out of the blue, she whimpered.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know exactly how you feel.”
He walked away, and she got a quick profile of a mighty fine boner. He sat on the cot she’d vacated, scrubbed his face with both hands, turned out the light, removed his sweats, and lay down, his hands behind his head.
The scent of him filled his bed. Bailey’s Irish Cream, spicy aftershave, and a hint of cinnamon coffee. She inhaled and got hot. She turned her face into his pillow and nearly came. He’d slept there last night . . . and dreamed of her.
She turned to watch him in moonlight. His sexual energy was high, his fantasies clear. He wanted to read her by Braille again, without her shirt. Ooh! He wanted her breast in his mouth. He turned her way. He’d like to see her move, see her cute little ass in the air.
Harmony turned on her stomach and raised her knees a bit.
Paxton raised himself on an elbow, as if he couldn’t believe she’d acted out his fantasy. Great, now he was gonna test his power of suggestion.
She tried to block his thoughts, but she was too blooming curious and terribly turned on. Great. Sure, she’d brought her dolphin vibrators, but what good would they do her with him in the same room?
He imagined her getting out of bed and “strutting” to his cot, removing her clothes, piece by slow piece. She stripped him naked and took his man brain into her mouth, then she climbed on and rode him like a blooming bucking bronco while he lay there and let her do all the work!
“Geez!” she said, sitting up. “I’m a witch, not a call girl.”
He jumped and shouted at the same time, which pretty much woke her to her big-mouthed stupidity.
“What?” He threw off his covers and charged her bed, his boner a sight in moonlight. “What did you say?”
“Put some clothes on,” she snapped.
He growled. “Forget the clothes.”
“The theme for the night,” she mumbled as she pulled the covers to her chin. “Did I tell you that I talk in my sleep? It’s insane, the things I say.”
“Did you say you’re a call girl or a witch?”
“If we weren’t sleeping in a blooming dormitory, you wouldn’t have heard—”
“Harmony.” His low-toned warning meant she was treading water in that swamp of eternal stink
“Son of a bitch!” King shot to his feet.
Harmony buried her face in her pillow so she wouldn’t giggle. That man was not going to get any sleep tonight.
He went to the bed, whispered to the kittens, and petted them, the sneak. He liked cats. “You’re frisky little things, if you’re anything like your mama—your cat mama,” he said, “not the pretty lady who brought you here to screw with me, so let’s fool her and be friends.”
The double-crosser.
Harmony rolled over to face away from him as Paxton came her way. She did not want him to know she was awake.
“Let’s go, Trouble with a capital T ,” he said as he scooped her up and carried her to his bed.
Huh?
Did he think she was gonna sleep with him?
----
Chapter Sixteen
HARMONY rode the roller coaster of Paxton’s bare arms while he turned down the blankets on his bed and set her down beside Tigerstar and her kittens. Was he toying with her? She could go for some mutual toying with . . .
Testing the sexual waters, she rolled over, as if in her sleep, trapped him, caught him around the neck, and brought his face to hers.
She might have initiated the kiss, but he took over with gusto. Heat purled through her in rolling waves, bringing her to life and making her hungry for a whole lot more. Withering witch balls, but the man could kiss.
She moaned, and so did he, then he sat beside her to cradle her in his arms and bring the kiss to another level, raising her up, readying her for anything. When he stopped, out of the blue, she whimpered.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know exactly how you feel.”
He walked away, and she got a quick profile of a mighty fine boner. He sat on the cot she’d vacated, scrubbed his face with both hands, turned out the light, removed his sweats, and lay down, his hands behind his head.
The scent of him filled his bed. Bailey’s Irish Cream, spicy aftershave, and a hint of cinnamon coffee. She inhaled and got hot. She turned her face into his pillow and nearly came. He’d slept there last night . . . and dreamed of her.
She turned to watch him in moonlight. His sexual energy was high, his fantasies clear. He wanted to read her by Braille again, without her shirt. Ooh! He wanted her breast in his mouth. He turned her way. He’d like to see her move, see her cute little ass in the air.
Harmony turned on her stomach and raised her knees a bit.
Paxton raised himself on an elbow, as if he couldn’t believe she’d acted out his fantasy. Great, now he was gonna test his power of suggestion.
She tried to block his thoughts, but she was too blooming curious and terribly turned on. Great. Sure, she’d brought her dolphin vibrators, but what good would they do her with him in the same room?
He imagined her getting out of bed and “strutting” to his cot, removing her clothes, piece by slow piece. She stripped him naked and took his man brain into her mouth, then she climbed on and rode him like a blooming bucking bronco while he lay there and let her do all the work!
“Geez!” she said, sitting up. “I’m a witch, not a call girl.”
He jumped and shouted at the same time, which pretty much woke her to her big-mouthed stupidity.
“What?” He threw off his covers and charged her bed, his boner a sight in moonlight. “What did you say?”
“Put some clothes on,” she snapped.
He growled. “Forget the clothes.”
“The theme for the night,” she mumbled as she pulled the covers to her chin. “Did I tell you that I talk in my sleep? It’s insane, the things I say.”
“Did you say you’re a call girl or a witch?”
“If we weren’t sleeping in a blooming dormitory, you wouldn’t have heard—”
“Harmony.” His low-toned warning meant she was treading water in that swamp of eternal stink
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