I didn’t. I have no one to report to, no one expecting me back or to be pretty for. I could go back to sleep; I could sleep the whole day away if I wanted to.
“Well no.”
“Then sleep,” He cocks his head to the side, watching me, “Not going to lie, my shirt looks good on you.”
My chin dips as I look down at theSinclair Motorsbranded tee covering me but before I can ask him how it ended up on me, he’s leaving the room again.
“Go to sleep, Marly. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
With the silence and my thoughts my only company, I decide to lay down. The mattress is comfortable, and the sheets have that smokey, earthy scent that I’ve experienced in the few times I’ve been around River, and realized is inherently him. I pull the sheets up to my chin and snuggle into the pillows, the headache making it hard to keep my eyes open.
But sleep doesn’t claim me.
Instead this intense need does. My mind is plagued by images of him in that towel, and then him in his jeans, the button undone. I squirm against the sheets, the heat flowing through me making it hard to breathe. I’ve never felt this before, not like this.
Pressing my thighs together, I toss on the bed, turning to face the wall and bury my face into the pillow. Is this normal?
I feel wet, hot even, and god, I ache. It makes me want to do something stupid, like go find him and tell him to make it stop.
But of course I won’t, I can’t. This is a me problem and I doubt he’ll want anything to do with it.
Not like I’d tell him anyway.
It’s so ridiculous, I feel so damn stupid.
But god, this ache won’t go away.
I feel like I toss and I turn in his bed for hours and at some point the headache abates. I just wish this need would too.
Chapter Eleven
It’s been four hours since I left Marly to nap. The parts came in for her car this morning but I’m not going to lie, I haven’t touched it, instead I focused my attention on the bronco even though I have another week to get it finished.
But even as I worked, I could hardly focus on the task knowing she was back there, in my bed, wearing my shirt. I saw how she reacted to me, saw the blush, the pressing of her thighs and the memories have left me semi-hard for the better half of the day.
Where the fuck has my control gone!?
I adjust my cock again, for what feels like the hundredth time today and roll out from beneath the vehicle. Has she slept enough now? Has the pain eased?
I sit up and then stand, grabbing a rag to wipe away the oil on my hands and look toward the door that leads to my living quarters, as if I’ve somehow developed x-ray vision that’ll show me her current status.
What a damn joke I am.
With it being Saturday, I only ever work half a day, but I am almost afraid to call it quits. Time off is a must, I use it to decompress, to work out or drive or fight, but I feel like giving it up now will only lead me into a whole world of new trouble.
I should have packed her up into a cab this morning and sent her on her way but seeing her all sleepy, with her hair mused and her blue eyes hooded, stopped me. She looked so damn human, so damn real, I didn’t want to send her away.
But I know I must face her again, I have to face her right now. I cross the garage and drop my tools on the bench as I make my way to the door that leads me back to her.
“Oh!” A sweet feminine cry sounds as I push on the door and when I finally step through, she’s standing there with my shirt hanging off her body and her hair in her hands. She has more color in her cheeks, looks more alert and put together. “You’re back.”
“I didn’t go anywhere, princess,” I tell her, lifting my arms to lean on the door frame and watch her. Her eyes travel over me, like a damn caress I feel everywhere her eyes touch.
“We’re at the garage?” She frowns.
I nod.
“But you live here,” She points out, looking back to the freshly made bed. The sheets are tucked neat and tight, and my pillows are fluffed and positioned neatly against the worn headboard.
