“Yes,” I say, letting the cotton do its thing and moisture wick, cooling my skin down.
He rolls his eyes at me. “You’rewelcome,” he says, taking a dig, because I didn’t actually thank him.
“Thank you,” I concede as he settles himself, though not before turning off the lamp and plunging us back into darkness.
Now that my body temperature has lowered to within normal range, you’d think I’d be able to drift back to la la land. I can’t. The chasm that was between Xander and me when I fell asleep feels like it’s vanished into thin air. Without my ability to see him, my other senses are in overdrive. It’s like every surface possible from my ankle to shoulder is touching him.
“Do you know what the time is?” I say to distract myself from my skin singing at the physical closeness.
“Quarter past one,” he replies without having to check, which tells me he’s been awake this whole time, aware of the seconds that’ve ticked by to get us to this moment.
“You haven’t slept at all?” I ask, already knowing the answer, but if we’re going to be awake for a while, I may as well attempt to make friendly conversation. Maybe we can be civil. For the sake of the sleep study, I’m willing to try.
“Nope. I’ll usually get an hour or two around three, if I’m lucky,” he says with a lighthearted tone that tells me he’s taking it better than I would.
“How do you function?”
“Barely?” he says, his voice raised at the end in a question mark. I’m not sure if it’s a confession or if he’s being self-deprecating. My mind flashes back to when Xander answered his phone at the caféwhile dealing with my shenanigans without missing a beat. I can just imagine the jury needing to break for recess due to new evidence.Open the envelope and you’ll see that it was Miss Scarlett in the photocopy room with the candlestick.The man is functioning just fine. Definitely self-deprecating.
“And you have no idea why you can’t sleep?” The darkness makes me bold enough to ask, even if my eyes are slowly adjusting.
“That’s why I’m here,” he says like he’s admitting defeat. I wonder how long he’s had insomnia. And what his breaking point was to make him walk into this sleep study and not only ask for help but ask me to help him.
“Without sleep, I would be a pathetic mess,” I say, the mattress shifting next to me as Xander rearranges himself. Into what position, I have no idea. I don’t dare look.
“Er, thanks,” he says, like I was calling him pathetic. I scold myself in the dark.
“That’s not what I mean. You lookgood,” I say, exaggerating thegoodso much that I may as well have said, “You’re fucking hot” to his face.
“Thanks. You too,” Xander says right back to me. Like his filter might be malfunctioning in the dark.
“Because I sleep,” I say, trying to redirect the conversation away from the fact that Xander visually stimulates my senses.And not just visually.
“From what I remember, you look good especially when youhaven’tslept,” he says, his voice lowering an octave on the last two words.
Woah.
My blood rushes from my extremities and pulses between my thighs. I can’t help but wonder what memory he’s in right now.
“Shut up,” I say, trying to deny myself the chance to ask. Unfortunately for me, this time, it comes out like I’m begging him.
“Make me,” he says.
I finally dare myself to look over at Xander. The streetlights outside slice through the blinds, illuminating his mouth.
That fucking mouth.
My eyes crawl up his face to find his locked on mine for a moment before they flicker to my mouth.
And something in me snaps.
I lean forward and kiss him.
On contact, I lose all self-control.
Xander slides his tongue over mine and my entire body leans into his, making full frontal contact. I tilt my head back, giving him access. I feel the hard lines of his chest, the detail of his waistband on my lower stomach, his thighs. He is all over me, and I still can’t get enough.
My hands are in his hair, twirling first, then tugging him closer.
