She’s silent for a moment, her head tipping back against my shoulder, and I feel her gaze on me in the darkness. Finally, after a few quiet moments, she asks, “What is your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” I respond far too quickly, my words not any less petulant.
“Liar.”
Forcing myself not to respond, I adjust my arm around her so she’s lying on me a bit more securely. Then I slowly lift my head from my pillow, turning my face toward her so I can get a whiff of her scent.
She doesn’t appear to smell like stripper sweat.
“Did you just sniff me?”
“No,” I once again respond far too quickly, though this time my tone is more feigned surprise than petulant.
So still quite suspicious, though perhaps not as telling as petulance. I adjust my body slightly, hoping she’ll believe my initial movement was just me preparing to get more comfortable, but from the tension in her form, I’m entirely certain she’s not going to let it go.
“Why are you sniffing me, Ren?” she asks loudly, “You’re gonna have to tell me because I won’t let you rest until you do.”
Groaning, I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter; it’s nothing.”
“Nothing, huh,” she drawls, her fingers now slowly tapping on the back of my hand. She continues to tap for a few moments and then stops. “I think we need to add a few amendments to our agreement.”
“What? Why?”
“To ensure we have honest communication at all times.”
“I don’t need a contract for that, Cassidy,” I respond, my hand moving from beneath hers to grip her wrist firmly, holding her in place as she attempts to move away. “But not everything has to be a thing.”
I’m one hundred percent sure she rolls her eyes, the snort that sounds between us solidifying my assumption. “I disagree. If something bothers you to the point it’s making you act completely out of character, then it needs to be a thing.”
I scowl. Grind my teeth together. Refuse to respond.
Her chuckle is low. Menacing. Obviously, a prelude to chaos.
She jerks her arm, wrenching her wrist from my grip and immediately sliding down to once again grip my dick. She squeezes with great intent, her low chuckle turning into a giggle, and I find myself torn between rolling away from her and rolling toward her.
“Come on, Cass. That’s not fair.”
She laughs, but this time her laugh is breathless. “Then tell me what the hell your problem is so we can get some sleep.”
I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want her knowing that I’ve fallen off a cliff into crazy town.
Racking my brain, I try to think of some kind of reasonable excuse that doesn’t come off as ridiculous caveman nonsense, but I fail miserably.
Because deep down, that’s exactly what it is.
Finally, after a brief mental struggle, I manage to confess, “I didn’t like you being out.”
Her grip on my cock eases, but she doesn’t fully release me. “What are you talking about?”
Sighing, I give up pretending I didn’t have a moment of sheer male insecurity and explain, “I didn’t like the fact you were out partying it up with God only knows who.”
She rolls away slightly; the arm she had wedged between us coming up as if she’s trying to show me something. Her hand moves from my dick to my wrist, and she pulls until I allow her to move my hand, and she presses my palm against what feels like her wrist. I stroke her soft skin, my fingers running into smooth, round objects looped around her wrist. “What’s this?”
“Bracelets,” she replies happily. “From the beads we picked up atMichaels.”
“Excuse me,” I croak, then clear my throat, not wanting to sound as stupid and sheepish as I feel right now. “You got them from where?”
Her arm lowers and I release her, and we settle back into our previous position with our hands overlapping on my stomach. “FromMichaels. You know, the big craft store.”
