“Finnneee.” She huffs, pulling her legs up and cradling her head on my bicep. I re-wrap my arm over her middle, just under her tits and hug her to my chest.
Her hair spills into my face, and I inhale her scent. It’s deeply floral and warm—inviting and familiar. I think she’s always been that for me. Since the moment we met.
I mumble my approval, but I don’t think she can hear or understand me. Sleep is coming. My body feels heavy and my head is spinning. I tighten my grip on her, pulling her against me completely.
Her soft flesh is a lifeboat for my mind, which feels lost at sea.
CHAPTER 17
LYRIC
My eyes flutter open.There’s barely any light in this room, and it takes me a moment to realize where I am. Fuck. I fell asleep! WE. Fell. Asleep.
I rock forward, away from Waylon and toward the edge of the bed, but his arm is still around my waist, and the moment there’s resistance, his grip tightens and pulls me back to him. Given, I can still hear a gentle grumbling snore coming from him, so it wasn’t enough to wake him.
Maybe I should wake him up. But he was so drunk when he went to sleep. I want to let him rest. He very clearly needed it. Hell, he fucking put me on the kitchen island and lapped at me like a dog hitting a water bowl on a hot day. And that’s all he had the energy for. Or perhaps that’s all he had left before he was officially fully drunk.
This is not the way things were supposed to go. He was supposed to come home, I was going to tell him we can’t hook up anymore, and then I was going to retreat to my room andtake my frustrations out on my tentacle. Instead, my sorry ass caved the moment he touched me. Ugh, I’m such a hussy. I mean, I did get an orgasm, and that was part of the original plan. But not like this.
Further proof that when it comes to Waylon, I have zero control. His stupid beautiful face and the way he calls me “darlin’” with that sexy voice and his expert level hands… I’m a sucker for him. Just him. And that’s dangerous. His hold over me is one of the top reasons I can’t sleep with him anymore. This is going to end in disaster unless I cut it short and don’t let it continue to unravel to what would ultimately end with me being heartbroken on a level much worse than the first time around. Fool me once and all that.
I slowly twist around so that I’m facing him. Somehow, I was able to do that without objection from an unconscious Waylon. This is one of those rare times I can study him up close without raising suspicions from onlookers. And when he’s awake, I have to be careful not to give him the impression that I’m swooning. Because I do swoon pretty hard. Like right now.
My eyes trace the tiny laugh lines that have started to appear at the corners of his eyes. This makes sense for a man who’s forever smiling and laughing. Hell, he never even seems like he’s in a bad mood. His mustache could use a trim. It looks like it’s starting to cover the edge of his top lip more than normal. Just a trim, though. If he ever shaved this magnificent thing off—or his beard, for that matter—I’d probably die.
His perfect mouth sits relaxed and slightly open. Despite trying to resist, I reach up and trace the pad of my index finger over his lips. He flinches a little, chews his lip, then begins his breathy snoreagain.
Waylon’s hair is swept down over his forehead in an unnatural way, which must be how he wakes up with that weird flippy cowlick each morning. It’s like he rubbed his face into a pillow and smooshed it flat. This strange flaw is a reminder that he is, in fact, human, but it does nothing to dull that sunshine presence of his.
I tilt my head toward him and brush a kiss over his cheek. The flutter of his eyelashes tickle against mine, and my breath hitches in my chest. Yeah, this definitely has to end. I’ll tell him in the morning after he’s sobered up and I don’t have to risk him not remembering it. Hell, he probably won’t recall any of this. Asking me to lie down with him, the compliments, the cuddles. He was way too drunk. Which surprises me because he’s not a drinker. But I can confirm it’s different when you’re out with friends.
I do my best to turn back around to my original position. His hand glides over my center as I spin, finding its grip once again when I’m settled. This may be my last opportunity to sleep next to him, so I lean back and snuggle in. There’s no sense in wasting the chance, so I pull the blanket up over my arms, tuck my hands under my chin, and soak it all in as my eyes flutter shut.
Tomorrow will be the reckoning.
I wakeup in an empty bed. The spot where Waylon once was is now occupied by Tater, whose long little body is nestled right up against mine. What the hell?
The distinct sound of two pans colliding in the kitchen echoes through the walls. I’ve never seen or heard Waylon cook aside from the grilling he did. He must’ve been pretty hungry when he woke up.
I stretch out my limbs and Tater catches on, deciding he, too, needed to get the stiffness out of his wiggly body. I’m still wearing the skirt and top from last night but to go to my room and change before facing him seems dumb. I want to shower before I get dressed for the day. So what would I even put on? Pajamas? A robe? No, this will have to do. Trying my best to unrumple it as I go, I slide off the bed and head out.
In the kitchen, Waylon is standing over the stove with his back to me, but he hears my approach.
“Good mornin’, darlin’,” he says, spatula in one hand, the other holding the pan in place on the burner.
“Um, good morning.” The words come out with a touch of confusion, I’m sure. This entire ordeal has my head swimming.
“Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee? It’s a fresh pot and I’ve already had two cups to help exorcise the alcohol demon from my guts.”
“Sure, thanks.”
Waylon slides a mug across the island as I take a seat on one of the stools. He places the creamer next to it and eyes me with suspicion.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I just…” The words trail off into nothing as I try to gather my thoughts. “I just don’t think we should hook up anymore.” There. I blurt it out so I don’t lose my nerve.
Waylon’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead as he nods a little.
