“Dammit,” he whispered, wanting so badly to stroke himself. Even worse, doing that while thinking of her.
His breaths became heavy and he shut his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep. What was it about that scene that had incited such anger and arousal all at once? Maybe it was the thought of the way that man had touched her—invading her space. Or how goddamn sexy she looked standing up for herself and giving that asshole every bit of what he deserved.
Jesus. Wheeler was stroking himself over the fabric. He thought about how ripe she looked in that outfit, how supple her breasts, and even the fact that she had on nude lipstick that matched her dress. Except it had a shimmer that made her lips look wet… as if she had licked them. He imagined her tongue gliding across her upper lip. The next thing he knew, he had pulled his shorts down enough that he could get a firm hold of his cock. He gripped the shaft, rolling his thumb over the tip. Wheeler’s body jerked, and his mind flooded with the memory of how her cheeks flushed the moment she’d caught sight of his erection.
An ache tightened at the base of his spine as he stroked even faster. The intensity flared, and Wheeler arched his back, feeling as if something was about to spring loose from his mind if he didn’t stop this aching desire. Her brown skin looked the color of cinnamon and honey, and she had exotic eyes that reeled him in with every glance.
He stroked faster. Then his mind raced, thinking about when she had kissed him. How velvety sweet her tongue was, and the way she’d nibbled on his lip. Christ. He could still remember the way her kiss tasted, like dark cherries.
Almost there…
“Misha?”
Holy shit! Wheeler didn’t have time for buttons and zippers, so he did the only thing that came to mind—he flipped over.
“Have you seen Misha?” Naya asked with a yawn. “I can’t sleep without my baby.”
“That what you normally wear during naptime?” he grumbled, trying to restrain his approval when he caught a glimpse of her walking past him in a pair of tight cotton shorts and a white tank top. He could see the cups of her ass below the shorts, tempting him to touch. Wheeler smashed his face into the couch pillow, rubbing it hard and wanting to end this humiliation.
“Misha,” she sang, peering behind her red chair.
Wheeler’s eye popped open as she bent over, her shorts riding up. Oh Jesus, he wasn’t going to survive this. Somehow, it was going to kill him.
“Maybe she got out,” he mumbled, realizing he was still hard and aching for release.
Naya turned around and folded her arms. “She’s slipped out a few times when I’ve had visitors, which is why I bought that collar. It just seems like I would have noticed. I guess with you around I was too distracted.”
“She’ll turn up.” But what he really meant to say was, Get the hell out of here and let me zip up my pants.
Her bottom lip pushed out. “I have to go to work soon. That’s too long for her to be out.”
“It’s a cat. They’ve lived outside for millions of years.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What did I say about wearing your dirty shoes in my house? Take them off.”
Not going to happen, he thought. “Think I’ll keep ’em on. My feet are shy.”
The next thing he knew, she was undoing the laces and tugging off his boot. Something about feeling her removing any article of clothing from his body made him panic; he might end up drilling a hole to China through her couch.
Wheeler bent his leg, trying to pull it away. “Let me sleep. Promise I won’t walk on your couch.”
“Hold still.”
She moved closer, unraveling the lace from his bent leg. He caught a whiff of her perfume and suppressed a groan. Wheeler had experienced all kinds of torture in his life, and yet nothing compared to this. When the second boot came off, she wrapped her hands around his sock-covered foot and he felt himself twitch.
“You have nice feet.” Her fingers pressed into the sole, as if debating on whether or not a massage was in order.
Hell no, a massage was definitely not in order. Wheeler straightened his leg. “Can’t a man sleep in peace?”
Naya appeared in front of him, squatting on the floor. “Has anyone ever told you that you are an antisocial, introverted asshole? I’m trying to be nice and you’re…”
He moved his head more to the side to look at her. “I’m what?”
She craned her neck forward and furrowed her dark eyebrows. “Mr. Grumpy.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Diva.”
Her tongue swept across her lips and the direction of her gaze altered, looking up at his head. It made him self-conscious, but it wasn’t as if he could go anywhere. “I’m going to strip out of these clothes, lather my body with soapy suds, and take a long, hot shower. Why don’t you do me a favor and look for my *cat?”
“Sure thing.”