Born to be Bad. Crystal Green

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      While she waited, the woman’s moans became rhythmic, and there was a muted thumping against the wall, as if the man had her body pinned to it, ramming into her, making her dig her nails into his back with the force of his thrusts.

      Gemma leaned against her own wall, pImages** coating her mind, dripping down her body like sweat—or the light path of a man’s fingertip.

      She remembered Theroux standing near the supply room doorway, watching her until she couldn’t take in air. Remembered him hovering over her, his breath moistening the side of her neck. Remembered his fingers cupping her breast, molding it like an artist skimming over his work.

      Caught up in the moment, Gemma slid her hand up her ribs, under her breast, separating her fingers and catching her nipple between them. Rubbing, she felt it harden under her tank and lace bra, felt it throb with yearning.

      She closed her eyes, dizzy, moving her fingers in time to the drumbeat of a body thudding against old wood.

      Behind the door.

      “Don’t tease.” It was a female voice, urgent, threaded with need. “Touch me there.”

      Gemma’s other hand glided over her belly, wishing Theroux’s hand had nestled there tonight. There…and slightly below. She eased her fingers upward, under the bottom of her tank top, over her sweat-misted skin.