She blushes, and the pink on her cheeks is distracting. It’s a rhetorical question. Of course that’s my hoodie, and—I glance down at her creamy long legs—those are my Batman boxers.
Kill me.
I want to peel them off her. But like the fool I am, I had to go off with my theories on Batman and divulge too much about how I relate to the damn fictional character.
She’s looking at me with blown pupils and pity. Hell.
I heard the movie turn on while in my office. Elliot said I had a free afternoon, and knowing Edmond and Stefan were gone for the day, I wanted to know what Thea was doing trapped in my house alone on a rainy day. So, I came home to work. Hearing the introduction made me freeze while I was preparing a legislative proposal for my upcoming trip to D.C. next week. We’ll be in session Tuesday through Thursday, and I’m already dreading leaving. Especially now.
She turned on one of my favorite movies.
“You went in my room to get a hoodie?”
She withdrawals her hand from my leg, and I berate myself. “Okay. Please don’t be mad, but Edmond bought all fancyclothes, stuff I’m not used to wearing. And with the rain all I wanted was something comfortable, and … I’m sorry.”
I purse my lips, thinking it through it for show. When in reality, I’m just shocked she felt comfortable enough to do so.
“I-I can take it off. If you want?”
A single eyebrow raises at the thought, and I shift. I’m tempted to milk the silence, see if she follows through, but her worried facial expression makes me cave.
“It’s fine, Thea.”
Her mouth twitches, and we stare at one another for a few seconds. I want to kiss her, finally put my mouth on her rosy lips and ease the need coursing through me. But what would she think? Instead, I stand, making my way to the kitchen.
“Hey, wait. Where are you going? Don’t you wanna watch?” She clambers to her knees, the couch depressing where she leans over the back, gesturing over her shoulder to the TV.
Oh, I’m not leaving. Not when she’s on the couch wanting company in my Batman boxers whileThe Dark Knightis on. Work can wait, and my avoiding her … impossible.
I study her face, reading the desperation in her wide, unblinking eyes. She wants me here? I smirk. “Let me grab the snacks.”
We argue over whether Frosted Flakes is an appropriate movie snack versus the popcorn she emerges from the pantry with. When I take the cereal box back to the living room, she’s even more dumbfounded to find out I don’t eat my cereal with milk. We settle in and the movie plays. She doesn’t ask questions, but she does periodically look at me with a wide grin on her face. Sometimes it’s as if she isn’t watching the TV at all, just me. Her gaze caresses over me, and my mouth goes dry. If I respond with a look of my own, she glances away, face flushed. What is happening?
Nearly two hours later, the credits roll, and I look down at her sleeping form. Halfway through the movie, she landed on me in a tangle of limbs. I’ve sunk into the couch, legs spread wide, and she’s on her back, face slumped over toward my pelvis. One of her hands rests loosely on my knee beside her face, fingers curled. Her hair splays over my legs, soft auburn hair clashing against my black slacks.
With every minor puff of air, her scent wafts to my nose, and I shift, swallowing the uncomfortable feeling that this is too … comfortable.
I don’t move for the entire credits, and eventually another movie comes on, but I don’t dare get up. She looks peaceful. Trusting. I clench my hands on either side of me, fighting the instinct to touch her, not because I don’t want to—hell, do I want to—but because if I do, this might end.
A loud bang on the TV sounds, and she stirs, letting out a deep sigh that sends a craving to rival all others.
This suit is worth more than most people’s rent for the year, and she’s wrinkled it without hesitation. The blanket draped across her slips with her subconscious movement, exposing her in my boxers that swallow her small frame. The black band sits low on her hips, and my hoodie rides up on her next inhale. I shift again, fisting my hands. Hell, I need to sit on them.
But …
Her creamy skin is smooth and soft as I allow the pads of my fingers to dance featherlight along the grooves of her lower ribs and below her belly button. She tosses for a second before her body arches. Her hips tilt in an unconscious response I didn’t earn. Her brows draw together in a sharp crease, and her lips part with a soundless breath that almost breaks my resolve.
She’s beautiful.
The hand next to her face disappears as she brings it to flick away my light touches from her abdomen. I stop touching her, but when I do, her eyes blink open.
“Slade?” She looks around, eyes widening when she notices her head is on my lap. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.” She makes to move, but I can’t let her see me like this. I splay a hand over her bare stomach, cradling her in place.
“Not yet,” I grit out.
She moves her head to look up at me, and the faint brush against my inner thigh makes me close my eyes. I’m still lost to her. She looks at my hand still on her, and I wince, slowly removing it.
She grabs it. “Don’t.”
