She knew she was in her own bed because she recognized the scent of the rose candles on her bedside table. Her aunt Fanny made them from the hedge out front. She also knew she wasn’t alone. Rio slept beside her, his body a warm weight curled against her back. His firm erection nestled in the crack of her ass, a hot prod that lit a fire in her belly. It burned through her blood with the force of a hurricane. Could she still be horny? They’d almost depleted her stash of condoms in the bedside table. They’d had sex at least three—no, wait, four times. Which was twice more than she’d had in the past year. If she played her cards right, she’d up her ante to five. She sank closer to Rio, rubbed against that erection—and the lust in her blood suddenly became an ache. A very uncomfortable, painful ache. Rosie rolled onto her stomach, facing away from Rio. Was she sick? She hadn’t had that much to drink last night so she wasn’t hung over. But the ache steadily increased until it became a sharp pain that made her stomach clench into a tight ball.
