“Sleep more,” he said. “And remember to eat.”
Even in my half-conscious state, I had managed to frown. “You’re bossing me around in my own bed now?”
“You didn’t seem to have an issue with it last night
Oh, that.
My entire body had flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the blankets.
I had opened one eye to glare at him.
He looked entirely too pleased with himself for a man leaving my bed before sunrise.
I had wanted to argue.
It’s what we do.
Instead, I had reached for him, wrapping my arms around his neck before he could stand. He had gone still for a fraction of a second, like the gesture surprised him.
Good. I like surprising him.
Then I pulled him down.
The kiss had been sleepy and soft, my mouth warm under his, my body still too exhausted to do anything more than hold on. He had braced one hand beside my head, the other sliding intomy hair, and kissed me back. Slowly, deeply. Like he had time that I knew he did not have.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against mine.
“Sleep, Victoria.”
“Bossy,” I had murmured, my eyes already closing.
“Yes.”
The last thing I remembered was the sound of him moving through my room, gathering the rest of his clothes, the quiet click of my front door below a few minutes later, and the faint, impossible feeling of being left both alone and not alone at all.
Then I slept.
Actually.
No dreams.
No waking with my hand between my thighs.
No cursing his name into my pillow.
No tossing, no heat, no frustration, no half-mad need building under my skin with nowhere to go.
Just deep, black, dreamless sleep.
For the first time in weeks.
I reach blindly for my phone on the nightstand and squint at the screen.
11:18.
I stare.
Then sit up too quickly and immediately regret it.
