"Yeah. Of course."
He sits back down in the chair, and we fall into a comfortable silence. I curl up on the edge of his bed, my feet tucked under me despite the bandages. He picks up a worn paperback from the nightstand and starts reading.
"What are you reading?" I ask after a few minutes.
He holds up the book so I can see the cover. Some thriller I've never heard of.
"Any good?"
"It's okay. Helps me shut my brain off before sleep."
"Can you read it out loud?"
He looks surprised. "You want me to read to you?"
"If you don't mind. I just... I need something to focus on. Something that isn't my own thoughts."
"Okay." He clears his throat and starts reading from where he left off.
Chapter 6 - Knuckles
What the fuck am I doing?
Reading to a woman. Actually sitting here reading a thriller out loud like I'm some kind of fucking bedtime story narrator. This is insane.
But she asked. And I apparently can't say no to her.
I left her room. Did the right thing. Put distance between us like I was supposed to. But she came after me. Knocked on my door. Asked to stay. Whatever happens now isn't my fault. I tried. I fucking tried.
But Jesus Christ, how am I supposed to resist this?
My voice keeps going, reading words I'm not even processing, while my brain is completely short-circuited by the sight of her on my bed. She's curled up on the edge, legs tucked under her, wearing nothing but that t-shirt that's too big and rides up every time she shifts position.
No bra. I can see her nipples through the thin fabric, hard and obvious, and it's taking every ounce of control I have not to stare.
My cock has been hard since she showed up at my door. Painfully hard. Throbbing in my jeans every time she moves, every time that t-shirt shifts and I catch a glimpse of more skin.
Does she know what she's doing to me? Is she aware of how her chest moves when she breathes, how her tits jiggle slightly when she shifts position? How every small movement makes me want to throw this book across the room and find out if she tastes as good as she looks?
Or is she completely oblivious? Just sitting there listening to me read, eyes closed, completely innocent of the effect she's having?
Because it sure as fuck seems like she has no idea.
She's just being herself. Listening. Resting. Her eyes closed, face peaceful for the first time since she walked into the casino wearing that wedding dress.
She's even more beautiful like this. Without the fear. Without the tension. Just existing in my space like she belongs here.
I read another paragraph, then another, my voice on autopilot while my mind races with thoughts I shouldn't be having. I want to touch her. Want to slide my hand up that t-shirt and find out if her skin is as soft as it looks. Want to cup those tits in my hands, feel their weight, hear what sound she makes when I squeeze them.
Want to push her back on this bed and pull those panties down, those see-through lace panties I saw earlier that are burned into my brain, and bury my face between her thighs until she forgets every bad thing that's ever happened to her.
Want to make her scream my name. Want to feel her come apart under my hands, my mouth, my cock. Want things I have absolutely no business wanting from a woman who came here running for her life.
I force myself to keep reading, to keep my voice steady, to not let her see how completely fucked I am right now.
She shifts again and the t-shirt rides up higher. I catch a glimpse of her thigh, smooth and curved, and nearly lose my place in the book.
I read three more pages before I notice her breathing has changed. Deeper. Slower. More relaxed. I stop reading and watch her for a moment. Her eyes are still closed, her face peaceful.
