“Lacey,” I call her name, but she’s focused on picking up her bag and shoes.
I should let her go, blow a load in the shower, fall asleep, and try to forget how right her lips felt on mine. Maybe in the morning this realization won’t feel so agonizing.
How did I think one kiss would be enough?
This was a stupid fucking idea, but I can’t let her leave.
“Lacey.” I walk toward her before she bolts from my apartment. “It’s midnight, and you’re in your pajamas. You’re not going anywhere except to bed.”
She clutches her shoes and bag to her chest, pink blotching her skin. “Your bed?” Then she lets out a laugh, sounding a little manic. “Of course, your bed. We always sleep in your bed. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t sleep in your bed.”
I can think of nine inches of rock-hard reasons why we shouldn’t sleep in the same bed, or the same apartment—the same continent even.
Her flustered appearance sparks a new curiosity inside of me. Maybe she’s not as unaffected by our kiss as I thought. “I’msure I can trust you to keep your hands to yourself, even if you did try to eat my tongue.”
Lacey rolls her eyes. “I did not try to eat your tongue.”
We grin at each other, the tension easing.
Walking to my bed, I flip the blanket off one side and arch a brow, giving her a challenging smile. Part of me hopes she will suggest I take the couch because sleeping next to her will be impossible after a kiss like that.
She drops her things, climbs into bed, and snuggles into my pillow like she belongs there.
She flips the blanket down on my side.
I better start counting sheep.
Three hours later I’m still awake.
Lacey tossed and turned for at least an hour before settling into a restless sleep beside me, one arm flung over her eyes and heart-shaped lips puffing with gentle, even breaths.
Closing my eyes, seconds tick by like hours, nighttime becoming a never-ending marathon chasing sleep that won’t come. I picture one woolly sheep after another, bouncing over a solitary fence in an empty field, but it doesn’t help.
I open my eyes with a silent groan and look over at the cause of my insomnia.
Lacey looks angelic, so peaceful in her dreams while I’m stiff and aching in my tortured reality.
Need pulses thick in my veins, and my cock sits heavy on my belly. My hand slides beneath the blanket, fingers gripping my shaft over my boxer briefs, intent on only adjusting the angle for comfort. Instead, I stroke.
Pleasure dances from the base of my spine, swirling low in my abdomen before dripping into my balls in thick, indulgent pulses.
My hips buck in reflex.
The movement unintentionally shifts the blanket from Lacey’s shoulder, exposing her white tank top. Her restlessness skewed the fabric, the swell of one breast dangerously close to slipping out.
A yellow glow streams from a crack in the bathroom door, filling the room with enough light to outline the edge of her rosy nipple. I’ve never been more grateful for her irrational fear of the dark and need to sleep with a light on.
Cold night air swirls across her exposed skin, tightening her nipple and revealing even more of the puckered flesh as it arches upward.
I drag my eyes up to the ceiling.Go to sleep, asshole.
It’s impossible. Even the sheep are lined up by the fence, eager to see what will happen.
I chuckle silently. Lacey would love the conflict in this scene—impossibly hard love interest trying to play the chivalrous good guy but hoping her top moves a little more.
I roll on my side until I’m close enough to her pillow to breathe in her floral shampoo. Peonies and vanilla drive my thoughts to the shower, water snaking over Lacey’s naked curves and dripping from her erect nipples. Moisture pools in my mouth at the thought of catching each drop on my tongue, the water sugar-sweet, like her skin.
My palm drifts to my boxers again and grips the hard ridge of my cock through the fabric.
