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“Goodnight.” I unashamedly watch her legs and ass in those torturous pajama shorts as she walks away.
The exhaustion I felt earlier after all the traveling hits me like a truck, and I fall asleep in minutes, surrounded by the scent of Talia’s cherry shampoo covering the pillow I’m lying on.
4
TALIA
Iwake up before my alarm, which is a rare occurrence for me. Still, I decide to make the most of the extra time my body clock has allowed me today, and actually make what I want for breakfast rather than just shoveling a bowl of cereal into my face before I rush out the door for my volunteer shift like usual.
I’m craving waffles, and the second I’m dressed in comfy leggings and a pale pink t-shirt and have wrangled my hair into a ponytail, I bounce down the stairs to make them. Even though I still need to go grocery shopping, I always make sure my kitchen is stocked with baking supplies. Sure, this isn’t my kitchen, it’s my Mom’s, but since I’m staying here over the summer, I’ve claimed it as mine anyway.
I stop short at the door to the lounge and kitchen. I thought Trey would be up before me, but nope. He’s sound asleep on the sofa, tucked up because he’s too tall to stretch out completely. I fight the urge to stand and watch him sleep like some sort of creep. Instead, I rush past him to the kitchen, trying to keep my footsteps as light as possible so I don’t disturb him.
I get to work, gathering everything I need to make breakfast, figuring it’ll be a nice gesture for him to wake up to a homemade meal. Besides, I always make too much batter for just me anyway and end up having way more waffles than one person could possibly eat by themselves.
Before I start mixing ingredients, I need coffee.
With my cup in hand, taking tiny sips so I don’t burn my tongue, I’m about to start whisking everything together. But a sleepy, husky voice stops me short.
“Talia.”
Coffee sloshes over the edge of my mug, and I set it down in a rush, grabbing a paper towel to wipe up the mess. I turn around hurriedly, hoping Trey hasn’t just watched me make a complete fool of myself.
Except, when I try to greet him, he’s not there. I’m sure I heard him say my name. Confused, my brows furrow and I take a step forward, pushing up on my tiptoes so I can peer over the back of the sofa he’s asleep on.
Sure enough, he’s still there, tangled in a blanket with his eyes closed.
“Talia,”he groans, and I bite my lip to hide my gasp as he says my name again. This time, it comes out rougher, darker, needier.
Oh. Dear. God.
Heat rushes through me like I’ve been set on fire, all thoughts of waffles crushed as all of my focus hones in on Trey. There’s still space between us. I haven’t left the kitchen, but somehow the room feels much smaller than it did before.
Surely, he can’t be dreaming of me, right? But he did say my name. Twice. And the way he said it, like he was groaning it in my ear from above, like it was a plea and a praise all at once.
It’s the single hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
Trey, of course, immediately proves me wrong by making it evenfuckinghotter.
I’m leaning forward to watch him, ears straining in case he says anything else. He shifts in his sleep and the blanket drops to the floor, giving me an insane view of abs and abs and—oh, did I mention—abs. I might be drooling, but I don’t know because I can’t think or focus on anything else except him.
Then his hand moves.
I think I might faint.
While he is shirtless, he’s not entirely naked, which is a saving grace because that might kill me. Still, the black cotton pajama shorts aren’t much better because they do nothing to hide the huge, hard outline of him beneath the waistband. Holy. Shit. He’s…aroused.
Not just that, he’s so aroused that, even in sleep, his palm finds his cock over the fabric, rubbing and stroking himself.
“God.Talia.”
I grip the edge of the counter, my knees going weak, my body threatening to collapse, wetness flooding my core. I squeeze my thighs together, not used to feeling like this over anyone. I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
Trey—hot as fuck, grumpy but kind, literallymystepbrother Trey—is touching himself to thoughts of me.
I’m halfway to melting into a puddle on the kitchen floor, but somehow my body manages to follow the instinctual demand to get closer to him.
Problem is, my legs are still weak, and I’m leaning on the counter for support. When I take a step, my hands move along the counter’s edge, and my arm hits the side of my coffee mug, sending it crashing over the side and onto the floor.
