She glanced at the loveseat. “You’ll barely fit.”
He rolled his gaze up to the ceiling, trying not to think of other contexts she might say those same words in. “I don’t mind.”
“You can sleep here.” She said the words in a rush.
He hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Are you sure?Because he was pretty sure the little thrill he’d gotten to be invited into her bed was rather concerning. It was almost as big as the thrill he’d gotten eating her out.
Almost.
“Yeah.” She scooted over, and he turned off the light and gingerly got in next to her. They pulled the blanket up to their chests and lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.
“You didn’t, um...” She gestured to his lower body.
“It’s fine,” he said quickly. Then he made the mistake of lickinghis lip. God. Maybe he should go shower again, lest his penis not get the hint that whatever spell they’d been under for a few minutes had absolutely gotten snapped away, leaving them with this tension. “Should we talk about... ?”
“Not now,” she replied quickly, and he was relieved as fuck.
“Okay, good.”
She turned her head to look at him, so he did the same. Her eyes were slumberous and heavy. “If I hit you or anything during the night, wake me up.”
“Uh, sure.”
Her smile was slow, her teeth flashing in the dark. “Night, Krish. Thanks. That was better than melatonin.” Her lashes fluttered closed, and just like that, she was asleep.
He continued to look at her, even though it was too dark to see her clearly. He didn’t have the advantage of a climax to put him to sleep—indeed, he was still hard—but his sense of satisfaction was almost as big as if he had come. Almost.
He closed his eyes and inhaled. That had been... intense. And maybe they’d discuss it tomorrow and how it could never happen again, because things were still too hot and—
Hot, heh.
He screwed his eyes shut tighter.
Sleep. That was all he needed to do tonight. He needed to be on his A game tomorrow, against both his mom and his live wire of a traveling companion.
Stick to your story. Stick to the plan. Well, figure out your plan, and then stick to it.
Forget her and forget about how you just destroyed her in this bed.
Easy.
Chapter Eleven
Laundry detergent. Was there any greater smell to wake up to?
Sejal buried her face in her pillow and inhaled. When she’d been a kid, laundry had been one task she hadn’t minded being in charge of. Her dad had been as lackadaisical about chores as he was about everything else, and she’d liked the feeling of fresh clothes too much to risk him piling her stuff in a corner of the living room and forgetting about it.
Had anyone made sure Mira had freshly washed clothes and sheets after she’d left home? Or had her little sister had to pick up that slack in the house, too?
Sejal burrowed deeper into the pillow to rid herself of that unpleasant guilt-inducing reminder. And then she realized her pillow had a heartbeat. And was breathing.
Oh, God. She opened her eyes. It wasn’t fabric softener she was inhaling, or at least not entirely, but Irish Spring soap. And it wasn’t a pillow, but Krish’s very broad, muscular chest that she had her face smashed in. She was layered on top of him like a blanket, her feet and legs between his, pelvis to pelvis. And his pelvis was at attention.
Sejal clambered up onto her elbows. The not-a-pillow gave a softoof, and then his arms were around her. He easily moved her to the side, like she weighed nothing. She rolled to sit up on her knees as he rose up on his elbow and scrubbed his hand over his face.
In the early morning light, his hazel eyes were lighter and... hotter. And fixed right on her. He’d never looked at her like this, except in the bar that first night, when she’d kissed him.
