Well, that and the smell of fresh-cut flowers from Fritz doing his midday vase routine out in the hall. “Is this what you want from me, angel?” he asked aloud. “Come on, I know you’re here. Is this what you want?” To emphasize the question, he put his hand under the covers and let it drift down his chest and his belly until it got to the front of his hips. As he gripped himself, he couldn’t suppress the racking arch that rocked his spine or the groan that rose in his throat. “Where the fuck are you?” he growled, unsure in the dim glow who he was talking to. Lassiter. No’One. The merciful Fates—if there were any. On some level, he couldn’t believe he was waiting for another female—and the fact that the tipping balance between urgency and guilt was quickly shifting to the former was a— “If you say my name while you do that, I’m going to throw up a little in my mouth.” Lassiter’s voice was rough and disembodied as it came from the far corner of the room where the chaise was.
