Its feel, its smell … with the added scent of girl on his pillow and the musky odour of sex from his own body all about him. The room was warm, his torso baking in summer heat, cool sheets still cast about his lower body. Beneath them he was erect, boldly so, and even his bound predicament could not shrink him. He tugged against his restraints with both arms and gained a sense of knots tightening in response. His bonds were secure—some kind of soft material, but capable of biting into his wrists if he fought too hard.He jerked his head about on the pillow, trying to sneak a glimpse of his situation from beneath the mask, but it clung to his eyes too firmly. “Hey. Hey! What the hell … Daniella?”No response. He held his body entirely still and listened. Nothing could be heard but his own breathing and the squall of a gull from outside the window. There were distant church bells too—Sunday morning. Silence, though, within the house. His house. Fuck, had she left him? Was she coming. I want to do it. For you.’ He looked into her eyes, watching them soften with the contact and his soothing voice. ‘I love you, Aimee Rogers. And I want you to marry me someday.’ Her eyes widened, and he continued. ‘Unfortunately, I’m Catholic, not Mormon. And polygamy is illegal in America. So let me do this, okay?’ Aimee threw her legs around his waist and squeezed him tight. Sean squeezed back, relieved at her reaction. ‘You really love me?’ she said. ‘I really do,’ he replied. She leaned back and fixed him with her sparkling green eyes. ‘When’s the appointment.’ ‘Four thirty.’ A smile widened her face, and she started pulling his sweater up. ‘What’re you doing?’ he said, knowing damned well what she was doing, but wanting to hear her say it. ‘That gives me two hours to screw you senseless Sean McMahon.’ She leaned in and kissed him, her tongue seeking his. Their movements became frantic as they each tried to tear the other’s clothes off and get to bare skin. He felt her hands.
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