Filthy Vows (Filthy Vows #1)(30)

He pulled me against his chest and I risked a glance out to the balcony, relieved to see that it was empty, no shadowy outline privy to this private moment.





14





I couldn’t sleep. It was almost five in the morning Vegas time, eight in the morning back in Miami, and my mind would not stop spinning. Next to me, Chelsea—despite her assurances to the contrary—snored like a congested walrus. I rolled to my right side and tried to think of something—anything—other than Aaron standing at the window, watching us have sex.

My fantasies didn’t use to be a problem. They sprung to force after I began fertility treatments, which is odd, since low libido had been one of dozens of the side effects that Dr. Rowe listed off. Maybe that was further proof that my body was rejecting the therapy, just like it rejected Easton’s sperm and rejected my hopes for a family.

The digital display on the bedside clock flipped a minute higher, and I felt my anxiety spike with the change. What if I couldn’t fall asleep at all? What if the men came in here at ten, ready for breakfast, and I was still red-eyed and wide-awake, scarred with the visual of what Aaron had seen?

Hadn’t just seen, I reminded myself. Watched. He could have left. He could have realized that we were about to have sex and moved down on the balcony, out of sight. He could have given us our privacy but he didn’t.

Why?

Maybe it was the curiosity of human nature. After all, I’d glanced in lit windows at night while walking Wayland. As he did his business, I’d watched the McDaniels argue in their kitchen, captivated by the secret glimpse into their lives. There had been something thrilling about seeing the personal moment between them when all pretenses were gone, shields down, the raw footage uncensored and unfiltered. Was this any different?

The truth was, if our neighbors hadn’t been arguing—if Mr. McDaniel had instead been ripping open her blouse and bending her over their kitchen counter—I wouldn’t have walked away. I would have stayed. I would have stood there, incredulous at what I was seeing, and stared. Maybe it would have turned me on. Maybe I would have wanted to join in.

Or maybe I was forcing my own desires into hypothetical Aaron’s head because the major, major issue was that I had liked him watching. I had wanted to turn him on. I had wanted, and even expected, to have him open the balcony door and join in.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. In the darkness of the room, I felt my fantasies stir. Beckoning. Seductive. Stronger. Weighted with actual possibility.

I pinned my eyes shut and focused on my breathing. Counting to one thousand, I imagined each number floating above my head, its digits dissolving in the darkness and replaced by the next. I fought, tooth and nail, against the images that slithered into my thoughts, stroked against my skin, pulsed inside my head.

Aaron beneath me, his mouth on my breast, his gaze on mine.

Easton behind me, my hair knotted in his grip, his finger tight in my ass.

Both of them, encouraging me. Worshipping me. Taking turns on me.

It couldn’t happen. It was too close to real life. It was a fantasy that should have stayed in its place, behind the current of impossibility but there—in the City of Sin—I felt it bloom to life.





“I swear, I’d do filthy things to that waiter for a waffle right now.” Chelsea leaned her head against Aaron’s shoulder and eyed our chubby Korean server with longing.

“It’s lunchtime. Wake up earlier tomorrow.” He nudged her into place with his shoulder to keep her from falling off.

“Oh, right. Because you were up at dawn,” she mumbled.

“Actually,” he tilted his head. “I might have been up at dawn. I think I fell asleep around five.”

I intently studied the French roll in my hand, tearing it in half and watching the bread pull apart. So I hadn’t been the only one lying in bed, unable to sleep.

“Ugh. I was dead to the world as soon as I got out of the shower. I almost fell asleep in there.” Chelsea lifted up a wrist heavy in David Yurman chains and glanced at her watch. “How long is our food going to take? I’m starrrrrving.”

Easton’s gaze found mine across the round table. I yawned, then winced, my cheek muscles still sore from his belt. His grin widened and I quickly shut my mouth. From beside Easton, I could feel Aaron watching, the heat from his gaze not helping the burn of my cheeks.

I stuffed part of the bread in my mouth and chewed.

“Hey.” Chelsea straightened off Aaron’s shoulder and leaned toward me. “I think I made a mistake with the cheeseburger. Want to swap?”

“No.” I took a sip of lemonade to wash down the bread. “Order something else.”

“Ellleee,” she whined. “But then it’ll take ages and I’m already SO hungry. Let me split your salad with you.”

“I’ll swap my steak for your burger,” Aaron offered. She perked up at the prospect, and irritation bloomed in my chest.

“Don’t trade her,” I snapped. “She needs to learn to order what she wants.” My gaze flipped to him and I was caught, full-force, in his eye contact. It was similar to when I once drove around a blind curve and encountered a deer. It froze, I inhaled, then I swerved and it ran away.

He knew. I lifted my glass of lemonade and rattled the ice, trying to get a piece in my mouth. He knew that I saw him. It was a sliver of possibility that felt as solid as a knife.