She watched him with drowsy eyes, probably for too long to be appropriate.
Then she yawned loudly and raised her arms up.
“Carry me.”
“If you don’t get your grown-ass up,” he grumbled, then turned and walked away.
She laughed wildly, lowering the base of the recliner and stood; organizing her belongings, she left them in her chair and followed Santi up the stairs. When she entered the bedroom he was already in the bathroom, door closed, and shower running.
Balancing her wide bottomed bag on the small night stand, she toed off her Garfield slippers, propped up the pillows on her side of the bed, and climbed beneath the sheets, her body sinking deliciously onto the firm mattress. Closing her eyes, shedrifted again until she heard the bathroom door open. Through half-closed eyes, she watched Santiago step through the door wearing nothing but boxers. His light bronze skin glistened, dark nipples were pebble hard, his muscles dense.
It’s too bad all that masculine beauty is wasted on me, she thought as Santiago turned off the overhead light and plunged the room into the kind of claustrophobic darkness that only seemed to exist in the country.
She felt the covers pull back and the mattress shift under Santi’s weight.
She fought the urge to roll over and move closer to his body heat.
Closing her eyes, Lauren’s breathing slowed, her thoughts quieted. Turning on her side, she hugged her pillow and surrendered to...
“Why are you here, infesting every crevice of my life?” Santi asked, his voice like black velvet caressing her skin.
Why was she here? Lying in his bed like it was the only place she felt protected? Why was she running around Shrouded Lake, trying to stand up for it and its inhabitants as if they belonged to her? And most importantly why was she still running? From her emotions, from her family, from the betrayal?
“I’m simply here sleeping with the enemy because if feels right to do so; nothing more, nothing less,” she said, unwilling to reflect on any iteration of his question or her own. Still running, her conscious whispered, and she endeavored to be honest with him if not fully with herself. “I’m just here trying to exist without pain, Stillwater. Sometimes that’s the best we can do.”
He was quiet for so long she wondered if he’d fallen asleep before her response.
“In my experience, people only sleep with their enemies when they don’t believe they have any other choice; or when theydon’t believe they deserve a better choice. You’re real vocal about how much you value yourself and your choices.”
She snorted.
“But you go ahead and make me the enemy if you need to, but I reckon when you gather the courage to face the one that hurt you? You’ll sleep easy in your own bed again.”
“Ones,” she said after a few moments.
“Hmm?”
“The ones,” she admitted, turning away from him.
There was now a large enough space between them to fit a soundproof wall; still she held back her tears because even in the darkness she didn’t want Santi to hear her crying.
Soft. Firm. Warm.
Squeezing and releasing; kneading insistently but gently. Even in sleep he knew his hands had to be gentle. But his dick…his dick didn’t know any such thing as it ground into plush warmth seeking a wet heat it knew awaited if it could just get to it.
The softness nestling his dick pushed against him seeking the penetrating thrust that his dick?—
An urgent moan rattled against his chest.
Santiago froze, eyes popping open instantly awake and oriented. A skill he’d developed from a lifetime of being in the military.
Prying his fingers from Lauren’s breasts, he slowly slid his arm from beneath her and when his upper body was free, he went about the more difficult task of pulling his dick from between the juncture of her thighs. To be clear, what made it more difficult was the fact that he didn’t want to do it.
He’d learned his own truths a long time ago, and just between him and the coming dawn, he wanted to be seven inches deep in Lauren with some room to grow.
He wanted to fuck her beyond her chaos and anger, beyond her grief and sadness, he wanted to fuck her until he reached her—peace, satisfaction, and healing…and silence, because the damn woman even talked in her sleep.
Creeping from the bed, he retreated from the room like a lake mist. Moving through the house, he disengaged his security system and walked to the water’s edge. He shed his boxers on the smooth stones. Across the lake, St. James’s desk lantern glowed in the misty dawn.
