It’s shorter than our first, but we’re breathing harder. I’m not ready for it to stop. But this time, he doesn’t put distance between us. He stays and keeps his hands on me.
I skim my fingers over the back of his neck and linger in the moment, taking in how he tastes and sounds.
“I’m sure that will convince them,” he says with a half laugh.
“So that’s the one you want to do in front of your family?” I ask playfully.
“Absolutely, in front of my sister. Is that bad?” He moves like he’s going to press his face into my chest, but stops himself at the last second.
A pang of sadness hits me. Why does he feel like he can’t? And more importantly, why did I want him to? We’ve always been close, and we like to get touchy-feely to push each other’s buttons. We cuddle and stuff. This isn’t different.
“Okay.”
“It’s that easy?” he asks, smiling again.
“Why not? She deserves it.”
He finally gives in to his impulse and brushes his nose across my pec, barely gazing my nipple. I shiver and doubt everything all at once. “We should sleep.”
“Yeah?”
“You told me I have to go to bed and not be hungover. I’ve already fucked one of those.”
“I guess I did say that… Fuck past Wolfe. That guy is a party killer.”
Archangel laughs and pats my chest, pulling back. “Goodnight.”
I get in bed and toss and turn and flip, unable to get comfortable.
What have I gotten myself into?
Am I doing this for him?
I know it started that way and, a little selfishly, to stick it to his sister. But now I’m not so sure. Does that make it wrong? Am I pushing and fucking things up by barreling through this like I do everything and not considering what he wants and needs? I thought I was doing the right thing, but three am thoughts fucking hate me.
I need to get some sleep, or I’m going to be even more of a wreck than Archangel for the party.
I don’t fucking sleep.Not more than a couple of hours, so I’m just making coffee when Archangel stumbles out of his room.
“I drank way too much.”
“I slept like shit.”
“Me too.” He half collapses into one of the stools at the counter.
I set a mug in front of him just the way he likes it. “You going to survive this?”
“Do I have a choice?” Angel sips the coffee and moans.
I get a little warm weirdly.
“You okay?” he asks.
I put a hand on my forehead. Do I have a fever? “Probably just drank too much.”
He makes a face. “You never drink too much.”
“And who kept pouring me shots?” I press my lips together, being just as bitchy as he can be.
