How did we even end up like this? And how did I not wake up?
Sucking in a large breath, I start pulling the T-shirt over my exposed ass that is plastered to the front of him. Luckily, I kept all his clothes on.
Once I shimmy it down enough to provide at least some coverage, I push the arm around my waist off of me. He makes a slight noise and shifts but doesn’t wake.
At a painstaking pace, I slide my top leg out from under his until only my ankle is tangled up with his calf. Another deep breath, and I brave the last tug, and his leg falls on my other one, wedging my limb between both of his.
I’m now awkwardly on my stomach, ass once again exposed, and I have no idea how to get my other leg free.
My body trembles with suppressed laughter at the absurdity of the situation—which, of all the things, is what wakes Owen.
I’m so worried about my exposed ass that I jerk off the bed and tumble ungracefully onto the floor, yelping in the process.
I scramble to pull the shirt down before I sit up and raise my head to find Owen peering over the edge of the bed, a large smirk plastered on his way-too-pretty face.
“Everything all right, Miss Riley?” I can hear the laughter in his voice.
“Fine.” I scowl as I stand, satisfied that the shirt covers everything.
Owen looks me up and down, and I shift uncomfortably on my feet.
“Interesting choice of sleeping attire,” he comments, the grin still there.
“It was a little hard to find something to sleep in when I had to carry your ass inside in the dark, and I wasn’t sleeping in that thing.” I motion to the discarded gown I threw onto a chair next to the dresser.
Owen’s eyes shoot to the dress and back to me. Still, his smile doesn’t disappear. “It’s not like me to point this out. In fact, I’ll probably kick myself later, but that shirt and the light filtering in from the doors behind you probably reveal more than you want them to.”
I instinctively wrap my arms around myself, mortified.
Owen laughs and stands, opening a drawer. He tosses me another shirt—this one is black—and points to the sweatpants by the bed.
“That might be more to your liking,” he says, holding back more laughter. “However, I’d be fine with you wearing what you are now.”
“Get out!” I shout, wanting to punch the grin off his face.
He holds up his hands in mock surrender and inches toward the door. Stopping at the entrance, he looks back. I’m still awkwardly trying to cover myself.
“Youknow—”
“Get out!” I shout again.
He laughs again, and the sound does something to me that I don’t even want to begin to unpack, but he obeys and slips out the door, closing it behind him.
I drop my arms and breathe deeply. I have no idea why my heart is racing or why I’m practically shaking.
After stuffing myself into the shirt and pants, I open the door and am hit with the scent of coffee. I almost moan.
I find myself content as I enter the kitchen, which is a rare feeling for me.
Owen has also changed, and he’s in his usual morning attire: joggers and no shirt.
He doesn’t notice me right away as he moves around the kitchen, grabbing mugs and plates. I observe for a moment, admiring the way the muscles in his back flex and move, the jaw-dropping beauty of him.
“Enjoying the view?” Owen chuckles, and I realize I’ve been staring and hadn’t noticed his attention.
I deflect the question. “I have to admit, this is not what I expected when I was told to take you home.”
“No? And what did you expect, Miss Riley?” He crosses his arms and leans casually against the counter behind him.
