She cringed.
“Did you know you make this soft little whimper sometimes when you’re sleeping? Not a snore, it’s a different noise.” I ran my thumb along her cheekbone, where the pink was the darkest. “It made me wonder what you were dreaming about.”
The pink changed under my hand, darkening further.
I dipped down, traced her jaw with my nose. “You better not have been dreaming about that fucker, Smith. Are you seeing him?”
“And if I was?”
White-hot jealousy pierced my chest and I wanted to roar my displeasure. She. Was. Mine. I tamped down the intensity to an acceptable level, forcing a slow breath in and out through my nose. Like fuck would I allow that shit. “I’d hate for you to break his heart when you choose me instead.” I nibbled her lobe, followed the delicate shell of her ear with my tongue. My cock jumped when she swayed against me, her hands fisting the sides of my shirt at my hips. I buried my smile in her hair. “Because you will.”
With that vow, I released her, pleased as hell when she sank down to sit on the edge of her bed, as if her legs couldn’t support her.
“I’m gonna go.” I tipped my head toward the door. “You going to be okay? Do you want me to drive you to the health clinic? I think it’s just bruised, but if you think one of your ribs…?” I’d probed them lightly at the apartment when she was pressed against me in the bedroom. She hadn’t flinched when I’d run my hand down her side until I got to her waist, well past the curve of her ribs.
“No, I’m good.” She hesitated. “Laird…” Another long pause as uncertainty flitted over her face, before she seemed to reach some kind of decision. “Your apartment is a thousand degrees. There’s no way you can sleep there tonight. I have an extra bed if you wanna crash here.” She nodded at the bare twin bed behind us. “You said you stayed the other night…”
I sucked in a breath as my dick leapt for joy. Stay stay stay, it pulsed in time to my racing heart. “Reese. If I stay tonight, I’m not sleeping in that bed over there.” I held up a hand. “I’m not saying we have to fuck, but I can’t take another night of watching you from across the room, and not at least having you in my arms.” Sharing a twin bed, there’d be no way to be anything except close.
Her sock-covered feet tapped out a nervous rhythm, the first part of the Bon Jovi song we’d been working on earlier today. “What about Oscar?”
“I have a neighbor two doors down with a beagle. Oscar hangs out there sometimes if my classes run late. He could probably stay there tonight.”
No more excuses. She had to make the decision herself. I’d laid it out there, but it was her turn to take a step toward me.
She fiddled with the edge of the quilt that covered her bed. It was pale blue and had a crazy intricate pleated type of design. If I was in her bed tonight, she wouldn’t need it. I’d keep her plenty warm.
“You should give them a call. See if they can keep Oscar,” she spoke to my knees.
“I don’t sleep in pants, by the way.”
“Jesus, Laird.” She tugged that oversized shirt of mine she was wearing away from her body, as if it was hot in her dorm too.
“Or a shirt.”
“You have to keep your underwear on!” Her voice was strangled and she wasn’t looking any higher than my ankles now.
“Reese.” Her hand fisted the edge of the quilt, then smoothed it back down, while her feet segued to the second song. “If I stay, it means something. I’m not saying I have expectations for tonight, but it means something. And I need you to admit it.”
Her feet stilled, and she ran her palms down her thighs and back up again, but her fingers were relaxed, not stiff. She raised her melted chocolate gaze to mine and looked me right in the eye. “You should call your friend. About Oscar.”
I’d never texted so fast in my life.
And two hours later, after she’d showered and come up with a million inane topics of conversation to delay the inevitable of climbing in bed with me, it was obvious she wasn’t going to be able to keep her eyes open much longer. It might’ve only been ten o’clock, but when you spent as much time being active in the heat as we did, exhaustion was real.
I took pity on her and flipped the light switch, tipping the room into the near dark. The orange glow of the street lights below us filtered through the cheap metal blinds, providing some illumination, but not much.
She fidgeted by the side of the bed. It was adorable.
Without making a big fuss about it, I shucked my shorts and my shirt, making a little pile next to my shoes on the floor at the foot of her bed. Then I pulled back her quilt and sheet and climbed in, laid on my side, and patted the empty space next to me.
“Waiting on you, Reese.”
She edged in gingerly, as if she feared that together we were over the weight limit of the standard issue bed frame and it might come crashing down at any second. Positioning herself as the little spoon to my big spoon, she settled in place.
And then wiggled. And squirmed. And shifted. When her last movement produced a soft groan, I’d had enough. “What’s wrong?”
Utter stillness. She didn’t budge. But then she finally admitted on a whisper, “I’m laying on my bruise like this, and it hurts.”
I felt like a grade-A ass and immediately readjusted us. Once I was flat on my back and she was glued to my side with her head pillowed on my shoulder, her leg thrown over mine, and my arm wrapped around her to hold her in place, I was satisfied.
Her free arm lay bent across my chest, her hand resting near the G tattoo on my right pec.
It was almost perfect. Except one thing. “Hey, Reese? What the fuck is poking my ribs? There’s no way your nipples can be that hard.”
Was it possible to feel a blush? Because I felt her embarrassment like a tangible thing.
“It’s… the underwire of my bra.”
“Why the fuck are you wearing a bra to bed?” I asked it conversationally, to put her at ease. “Do you normally do that?”
A pause. Then, “No.”
There were several ways I could handle this, but considering her smart mouth was MIA, I assumed she was feeling more than a little vulnerable. I bent my neck until I could look down at her, and then brushed her hair away from her face gently.
“Do you trust me?” I pitched my voice low and serious. “Because in case you misunderstood me earlier, I want you. And I’m not really looking to fuck this up. Take off the bra. Get comfortable. I’m not trying to get in your panties tonight.” I tapped the tip of her nose gently. “Not until you’re ready. I just want to feel you close to me. You’re safe, I promise.”
Her breath whooshed out in a long exhale, and I could feel the tension melt from her muscles. She leaned up and performed whatever voodoo magic girls do that allow them to take off their bras without ever removing their tops, leaving her in just a soft cotton shirt and some tiny plaid boxer shorts.
She sank down on the mattress again, and I nearly groaned at how good it felt to have her plastered against me. Her leg slid over mine, her thigh perilously close to my dick. Part of me begged her to shift over that last inch, to press against me, and the other part hoped she stayed right where she was, so my burgeoning erection didn’t scare her off. I told her the truth when I promised her I was content just to hold her, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t aroused as fuck.
The curtain of her hair fell over my bicep, and I was careful to keep my hand on her lower back and away from her sore hip. The soft puff of her breath warmed my neck at steady intervals. It was her left arm, her free arm, that was making me crazy.
Her fingertip lightly traced the black ink of the G, once, then twice. My dick swelled, and I flattened her hand against my chest to still her motions.
“What’s the G for? Your middle name maybe? Laird G. Bronson? Or an old girlfriend?”
Did her voice get a little brittle there when she said that last word? “No. G stands for Garrett, my brother.” My hand pressed hers down harder for a moment, right over the tattoo.
“Aww, that’s sweet.” She tipped her chin up to me. “Does he have an L for you?”