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Morgan breathes me in more, takes my scent into his lungs, burrows in as close as he can. His lips press against my pit, once, twice, and then his tongue sneaks out and tastes me there. A tremble runs the length of me.
“Sorry.” His voice is low, sleepy.
“Don’t be. I like it.” Too much. I already know I’ll give him anything and everything he wants, even if I get hurt, even when I know he’s going to walk away. I don’t have the strength to deny Morgan anything, and sure as shit not to deny him myself.
I raise my arm more, making it easier on him. I don’t know if this is a thing for him—scent and armpits—but I’m willing to let him make a buffet of mine, while hoping it’s just ours, that my heart won’t shatter when this ends.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Morgan
I wake up with the scent of Dusty all around me.
I’ve never been like this before—whatever the fuck this is—where I need to feel surrounded by another person’s smell and body heat and crave the feel of their touch against my skin, but that’s exactly how I feel right now with Dusty.
I don’t want to move, don’t want to leave this bed, because the world is a whole lot easier right here. Still, the back of my neck prickles, the hairs rising there. The neediness makes me feel weak, makes me fear what is going to happen when this blows up in my face.
I burrow deeper, feel his rough hairs against my cheek. Dusty’s hold on me tightens, his muscles hard against mine, his skin hot and so damn comforting.
It makes my dick swell too.
“I gotta get up for work,” Dusty says, voice rough and deep, sleepiness clinging to the edge of it like he didn’t get as much rest as me.
“Well, that’s no fun.” I don’t want to, but I make myself pull back. He has shit to do, and this…it’s clingy and needy and not me. Being back here, seeing him again is fucking with the walls I’ve worked so hard on building.
Dusty rolls his thick body away from me and sits on the edge of the bed. The muscles in his back flex, the urge to lean forward and taste every inch of him with my tongue pulling at me.
He stands, adjusts the obvious erection beneath his boxer briefs, and damned if I don’t want to bury my face in his groin too, if I don’t want to lick and smell every bit of his skin, every crevice on him.
“You look tired, Morgan. Stay here and get some rest before you go back to your dad’s. We’ll, um…talk about the other stuff later.”
Guilt makes my skin tighten, like my body doesn’t fit inside it anymore. “I’m sorry for last night. I—”
“Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for kissing me. If I didn’t want your mouth on me, I wouldn’t have allowed it.” Dusty’s voice is firm, sure, and damned if it doesn’t make my dick thicken even more.
“Yes, sir,” I answer playfully.
“I’m serious, Morgan.”
I sober and nod.
“I’m gonna get dressed and head out before I end up not leaving this room and doing something I can’t take back. I need to think first.”
I nod again, struck silent by this confident, sexy version of my best friend.
My gaze doesn’t leave his tight ass while he walks to his dresser, gets clothes, then disappears behind a closed bathroom door. I allow my eyes to shut, just planning on resting them, but his bed smells like him and lulls me to sleep. The next time I wake up, I know Dusty is gone.
There’s a note on the nightstand that says to lock up when I leave, with a key beside it. It’s such a dumb fucking thing to smile about, but I do.
I climb out of his bed, take a piss, and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is messy, scruff a little longer than usual, eyes rested but carrying the weight of being a Swift inside them. I should get into the rental car, drive out of Birchbark, out of the UP, and never come back. Kissing Dusty last night is only going to complicate things further. But instead, I tug on a pair of jeans, grab my cell, and go out the back door to sit on Dusty’s deck.
The sound of squirrels and other critters scurrying along the forest floor fills my ears as I take in this little utopia Dusty has built for himself. It’s fucking perfect for him, so goddamned beautiful that without the other shit, without my life as a Swift hanging over me, I can see why someone would want to be here.
I look at the time. It’s ten, so that means it’s seven in California and I should be able to catch Rob before he goes to work. Even though he told me yesterday he’s going to be busy, I have to call. It’s not a conscious decision I remember making or even thinking about, but I know what I need to do.
“Hey. I have about five minutes,” is the first thing Rob says to me. If Dusty were here, it would piss him off, but I can’t be mad at Rob for being who he is, for acting the way I’ve allowed him—and needed him—to act.
“I kissed my best friend last night,” I tell him, then rub a hand over my face. It sounds so juvenile when I say it that way.
