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Not only did he not leave, but he made himself so comfortable that he actually fell asleep.
God, I hate this part.
When a hook-up overextends their welcome.
Just never assumed Trent would fall in that category.
Argh.
But as I stand there and watch him blissfully sleep, I can’t help but wonder if he always sleeps so soundly after being a righteous bastard with everyone all day or if I had anything to do with it.
He looks peaceful, though.
Happy even.
Not being able to stop myself, I let my eyes wander along the slopes and trails of his body.
I love the way his arm drapes over his head while the white bedsheet droops over the V of his hips, doing its best to cover his monstrous cock. But it’s the detailed ink adorned on his skin that begs for further inspection.
Its bold, black lines tell a story of his misspent youth and hard past. I itch to trace my fingers lightly over each distinct image, captivated by the artistry etched on his chest and forearms. His truth, whatever it may be, is imprinted on his olive-tone skin, ensuring that only a select few ever see it. The Celtic designs speak of strength and resilience, of pain and growth, creating such a magnetic pull that it’s impossible not to be drawn to it. But it’s the familiar image of a bald eagle on his left pec, one that portrays his devoted patriotism, that pulls me out of the fog and slaps me awake.
“Get up,” I order, giving him a good shove. “I said, get the hell up, Trent. It’s time you went home.”
I know the minute he’s heard me when his eyes fling open. His black orbs go from sleep deprivation to confusion to, ultimately, awareness of me kicking him out. And from the way they shine with retribution, I know I’m going to be paying for waking the beast from his slumber so abruptly.
Thankfully, he doesn’t ask me why I’ve woken him in the middle of the night to send his ass home.
Nor does he make excuses for wanting to spend the night or even seducing me into letting him.
I’m actually quite grateful that he didn’t use his black magic on me. I’m not sure I’d be strong enough to tell him to leave if his mouth was on me in any way.
I watch in silence as he picks up his clothes, but then turn my head away when he starts getting dressed. I walk over to the other side of the bed and slide in, keeping my back to him at all times. I countdown the seconds it takes for him to get fully dressed, my anxiety picking up when a deafening silence falls over my bedroom, hanging so thin in the air that I might as well choke on it.
“I’m sure you still remember where the door is. If you don’t mind showing yourself out, that would be great. I’m quite tired.” I fake a yawn, needing to break the eerie silence.
When I hear faint footsteps walk closer to my side of the bed, I close my eyes shut and pretend to be too tired to keep them open. My whole body is tense, just waiting for Trent to call me every name in the book for kicking his ass out of my bed so callously.
I flinch when I feel his lips press a sweet, tender kiss on my forehead.
My eyelids open of their own accord to find Trent looking down at me, not with hatred in his eyes, but with what looks a lot like approval.
“Goodnight, Lee,” he says, his strong voice soft and smooth like silk.
“Goodnight, Nichols.”
He offers me a small smile before walking out of my bedroom, throwing me one more glance before turning off the overhead lights. It’s only when I hear my front door being shut a few seconds later that I let out the breath I was holding.
Though I acted like a total bitch—after he gave me what can only be described as one of the best nights of my life—he didn’t fault me for it, nor was he offended by it, either.
I expected him to say something.
Say anything that would insult my knee-jerk reaction of kicking him out.
But instead, he looked almost proud that I did it.
The fuck?
If Trent Nichols wasn’t already an enigma in my eyes, then his reaction to how poorly I had just treated him magnified tenfold.
