And she’s wearing…
Fuck me. No. No. No. Thin straps hold up a peach silky something with white lace at the tits and dancing just below her ass.
She wanders toward the bed as if we do this all the time, as ifshe’s in flannel footed pajamas with pictures of moose families on them or something equally as unsexy, and pulls back the downy comforter and sheet. She clicks off the lamp, sliding under the covers, and rolls to face away from me.
The nighty plunges in the back so with the sheet pulled up, it looks like she’s wearing nothing but a piece of thin spaghetti.
Thank God I never put cameras in her bedroom. Also, praise the deities everywhere she never wandered into her kitchen in that torture device.
My t-shirt was enough. My tee on her primed me, made me want her, got me hard. This? This is… This is not something I can sleep next to on any given night. She needs guest room furniture stat. And blankets. Maybe itchy ones that scratch and tickle at the same time. That way I can hate sleeping here. Hate being in a bed or even horizontal. I can wish for the time this is over so I can go home to my big comfortable bed with its perfect sheets and not have a woman who makes me fight not to slide into her.
I finish with my shirt. Having frozen in place with my mouth hanging open, head halfway through the neck of it when she walked out. I probably looked like a teenager who caught a glimpse of boob for the first time.
Even the thought of my father can’t fix what’s happening in my boxers right now. I drop the shirt with the rest of my clothes and sit on the covers, elbows to knees, face in my hands, wondering how the fuck I got myself into this situation.
It takes several minutes before I can relax back into the mattress and several more before my mind stops fighting all the what-ifs. Eventually I succumb to sleep if only because staying awake is too brutal on my mind after forty hours with no sleep.
Besides, staying up means my dick is too.
I wake before the alarm goes off, too warm, too deeply asleep for a house that isn’t mine. The light is different, the smells are wrong, and the warm body resting atop me is… talking.
“But the merman needs the money.” Her arm reaches out, and her hand opens and closes as if grabbing for said money, but dangerously close to grabbing something else.
As entertaining as her wild ass dreams are, I need out of this.Slick fabric rubs against my skin. Lorien’s smooth leg rests atop my shin and her face on my pec looks soft but worried. Apparently, the mer people are broke.
I slide my bottom half away as gently as possible and gingerly drop my shoulder onto the bed to slip her onto the mattress. The nighty has dropped and the swell of the top of her tit is visible. With all the discipline I have, I step into my pants and shoes, throwing my shirt on only to realize it’s inside out and having to do it a second time. I’m almost out the door when I hear it.
“Liam.” Her voice is breathy.
I turn, thinking she’s awake, only to see her reaching again. “Liam.”
Against my better judgment, and knowing I’ll regret this, I return to the bed I just vacated and kneel beside it. “I’m here, Lorien.”
Her hand reaches out to gently scrub down my beard. “Good.”
She won’t remember.
I’ll never forget.
My name on her lips. Her fingers in my beard. Her wanting me beside her.
She’s killing me, one ridiculous moment after another.
Briggs Barnett is back to normal. At least that’s how he seems. No mention of his kicking me off his property. Not a word of him hoping I’d be willing to commit murder for the low, low price of a couple million. All’s right with the world, and he needs help on a new property, this time in Wyoming.
He wants me to come to him this week and is all too flexible when I say that doesn’t work for my schedule. Being Lorien’s rideshare driver, plus the need to go car shopping is one thing. The real challenge is her security. She’s a magnet for trouble, andit seemed to be coming at her from an unknown, unknowable source.
Until I dug deeper.
The not-so-smart guy who watched our homes and broke in when I left is Mark Gascon. His uncle, his deceased mom’s older brother, owns the moving company Lorien contracted to get her into her unit.
The movers themselves are a different matter. They’ve been exceptionally quiet… at least in the days since they served us. I have alerts on them as well, ones to notify me when anything pings with their names.
If the owner of the moving company is making plays, I’m curious what he’s working toward. We can’t undo the press. We won’t undo the reviews. The only thing that helps is a public apology… or discrediting the person who smeared his business. But, if it were slander in the technical or legal sense of the word, he could sue. He should sue. The fact that he hasn’t can only be because it’s true. Or because he isn’t able to smear Lorien without proof.
What could proof look like? And why send a below average criminal to look for it? If he was truly interested in clearing his name, associating with a known felon who’s a blood relation and who sucks at his job isn’t the way to do it.
So, for now, Lorien has me as a shadow.
