“Well, fuck.”
I had long since lost track of how many drinks either of us had consumed. Flint’s cheeks are rosy, however, and his eyes seem to gleam.
He lays back on the floor, his feet braced and his hands behind his head. He studies me with a playful grin spreading across his face as he watches the animated gestures I’m making while I tell him about a scrapped short story I once tried to write.
“I didn’t know you could be this... bubbly.” he teases.
I snort in a very unladylike manner. “Bubbly? Is that a compliment or an observation?”
“Why can’t it be both?” he sits up, bringing his face closer to mine. My heart seems to do a slow somersaultin my chest and I’m not entirely sure I can blame the wine as his eyes seem to burn into mine.
The world seems to fade, the background noise of the TV becoming a drone in the background; just a distant murmur as the tension between us seems to thicken.
Flint reaches around me for his glass, and his hand brushes my arm, bobbling my wine. The accidental contact seems to send a jolt of electricity through me and based on the way his eyes widen and darken, he feels it, too.
“Oops.” I say, barely above a whisper, because I’m awkward and tipsy, and of course I’m going to ruin this moment.
Flint’s eyes stay on mine as he puts his glass back down, and gently brushes the hair away from my face with the back of his fingers, turning his hand to cup my cheek.
My eyes shutter closed, I feel his breath on my face as he drifts closer, and then I feel the warm, firm pressure of his lips against mine. They’re so soft, so warm and my brain scrambles into a tipsy mess. I try to move my face for a better angle, but accidentally misjudge the distance between us because of course, I’m tipsy, and we just end up bumping noses in a messy, clumsy collision.
Flint pulls back and smiles. I smile too, even as I can feel my cheeks heat in a deep blush.
“Let’s try that again,” he suggests. He brings both hands to cup my face this time, holding me in place as he gently presses his lips to mine again. Once, twice, three times; gently, warm, increasing the pressure with every contact.
I’m dazed when he pulls back, struggling to open my eyes.
“So sweet, Ash. So very, very sweet.”
I swear his eyes are glowing. It has to be the wine. Eyes don’t glow.
Pushing my hair off of my face again, Flint smiles at me. He slowly draws me forward and places a chaste kiss on my forehead.
“You should get some sleep, love. We always have tomorrow.”
Nodding dumbly, I drag myself off the floor after a couple of tries, bracing my hand against the couch and using Flint’s chest as a place of leverage. I stagger behind the partition and fall into bed, fully clothed. A thump on the mattress tells me Calida has decided to join me, and then the darkness drags me under.
CHAPTER TEN
Ican hear birds chirping. My tongue feels like a piece of cardboard, stiff and dry in my mouth, with a Gods awful taste. There’s a slant of sunlight that feels like it’s burning my eyes into cinders behind my eyelids and a huge weight on my chest. Trying to work some spit up in my mouth, and risking flames shooting out of my eye sockets, I lift one hand to shield them from the light, as I oh-so-gently lift my head and look down. It appears at some point in the night, Calida decided tocurl up on my chest and sleep. At least I’m not slowly suffocating.
I flop my head back and immediately whimper. I guess the hangover is well deserved. I keep my hand up over my eyes as I try to piece together the end of last night. I remember talking to Flint about my story and him (sadly) confirming that he does not know of any giant cats. I grin, thinking about Calida in her pizza coma and…
OH.
MY.
GODS.
Flint… I… we… holy fucking fuck balls, we kissed. Wekissed. And had I not had a metric fuck-ton of wine, that probably would have been my first thought upon waking up. Then again, to be fair, it likely never would have happened if I hadn’t been tipsy as shit. Oh Gods. Maybe he also needed to be tipsy. If I could roll over without risking making a dragon angry and possibly setting me on fire, I’d hide my face in my pillow. Sleeping dragon…
I almost pop something in my neck twisting my head to try to see where Flint is. It’s not a big place so it’s not exactly hard to spot him. He’s asleep on my couch and he looks absolutely delicious and... ridiculous. To my disappointment, he’s still wearing his shirt, but his bare feet are hanging over the end of my sofa. His neck is bent at a truly awful angle in an attempt to accommodate the space between the couch’s cushion and its arm. He has his own arms folded across his belly, and I have a sneaking suspicion it is mostly due to the fact that there is literally no other space for them. The sun is streaming onto his face, but his chest continues to rise and fall withdeep, even breathing. Even in sleep, he looks every inch the warrior.
I think it’d be creepy if I laid here, staring at him, for any longer than a few minutes.
I can’t believe this gorgeous man is sleeping on my couch. That he kissed me last night and called me bubbly. Asked questions about me andactually fucking listenedto the answer.He showed genuine interest in me and my life, even the things that I find boring myself.
I wince as I realize that the bar really is in Hell for straight men these days. At least… I assume he’s straight. We didn’t get far enough into our conversation to discuss sexual exploits. Even thinking about sex and this man makes my cheeks heat.
