Me falling asleep while Archie’s thigh presses against my side through my blanket and the dulcet tones of his voice tell me a story? I resist a scoff. Highly unlikely.
That other thing, though…
“It depends on the moon,” I answer. “I sleep with my curtains open. If the moon is high and bright, I turn all the lights off. If it’s not out, I turn on my lamp at the softest light option. Then I use my nightlight for the in-between nights.”
“The moon,” he mutters, head turning toward the window, where the moon hangs half-lit beyond my open curtains.
He stands, moves to an outlet beside my desk, and checks that the little bear-head nightlight plugged into it is working properly. Then, he turns on the lamp on my bedside table before turning off the ceiling light. “I’ll turn out the lamp when I leave,” he says.
“Okay,” I reply. “But… if you wanted to… um… stay? I would not be opposed.” I blush, delving deeper into my tucking. “You’re an outstanding cuddler.”
He freezes, fingers twitching as he stares at me. “You wish to undo me,” he whispers. “To test my control. To strain the limits of my restraint.” He inhales heavily, shaking out his arms.
I open my mouth to take it back. I don’t want to cause him any discomfort, especially when I’m not willing to physically go any further than we’ve already gone. Steamy kisses and cuddling are one thing, everything else is… another, bigger, scarier thing.
Archie’s been perfect about doing only what I wish and when I wish, which has made me more comfortable than I probably ought to be in what I ask of him. But he is a human with urges, and I should not become a tease when I’m not ready to follow through.
Before I can say any of that, though, Archie concludes, “And I believe I wish to let you. How fun it is to have you at my fingertips and not be allowed to do the things I wish to do—the thingsyouwish me to do, just not yet, if your first forty-one goals are still accurate.” He sighs. “You continue to give me gift after gift.”
Oh. Right. I forgot. Helikesbeing teased.
He kisses my forehead. “Let me prepare myself for bed, and then I will tell you your story.”
“Okay,” I whisper to his back as he leaves my room. To go to his room. To prepare for bed. With me.
What if… what if his pajamas have the same effect on me as mine did on him? What if he doesn’tusepajamas? What if bedtime Archie is more than I can handle?
My breathing shallows.
Could I possibly be that lucky?
My mind conjures up image after image of Archie sleeping in varying degrees of dress, most of which make me blush.
I just barely get a hold on my wayward thoughts when my door creaks open and the man himself steps through it, wearing only a pair of red plaid pajama pants. And that’s it.
“I amsolucky,” I whisper, allowing my eyes to rove his chest, shoulders, arms, and stomach. He stops at the foot of my bed, letting me look my fill. Each muscle group is defined, and he hasabs, which nearly shocks me silent. Nearly.
“Can you turn around?” I ask. “When do you even get the time to work out? You work two jobs.”
He turns, giving me a full view of his back, which is just as muscled as his front. Freckles grace his skin, inviting me to play connect-the-dots. “There’s a gym on the compound,” he answers. “And a pool. I go to the gym three times a week, and I have a standing pool reservation every Friday. I do a lot of projects around the house as well. Not the sort that I do in my basement. Actual projects.” He gestures to my bed frame. “I built this, then carved it, and almost all of the furniture in the house is the same.” He shrugs, inviting me to drool as his muscles bunch, then relax. “My CubeCraft job takes up a lot of my time, but it doesn’t offer me a lot of physical movement. My Monster Clean Up jobdoesoffer movement, but it takes up a lot less of my time.Most of my methods are set it and forget it types. So I make sure I stay active in my time away from work.”
A muscular, active, healthy man who is handy, considerate, emotionally intelligent, and helps rid the world of bad guys.
“I amsolucky,” I repeat.
He laughs, flexing as he turns around, and I laugh, too.
He winks, then crawls up the bed to lie next to me over the covers.
“You can get under here with me,” I say. “I promise I’ll be good.”
“You’re always good,” he echoes me. “I’m just wondering what version of good I want to bring out in you right now.”
“The version that listens really well,” I suggest.
His eyes darken.
“To thestory,” I specify.
