I blink my eyes open to light slanting through cracks in the blinds, and it takes me a second to figure out where I am.
In Ben’s apartment. In Ben’sbed.
I briefly wonder if last night was a dream before I turn my head and see him sprawled out on his stomach, spectacularly nude. That ass is definitely not a dream.
He’s got an arm flung over me and it’s heavy and warm. I scan the room; it’s like a clothing tornado blew through here. My dress is draped over an upholstered chair in the corner, my nude heels shoved haphazardly underneath, while Ben’s shirt hangs off a tall bookcase that’s crammed full, spines jammed in every which way. The rest of his clothes litter the floor from doorway to bed, charting our sexual progress like a naughty treasure map. Across from the bed is a tallboy chest of drawers, his cuff links and my hastily removed jewelry resting on top. A framed black-and-white portrait of a midwestern landscape is mounted above the tufted leather headboard. This is a grown-up’s room.
I tuck the gray linen bedspread around me and stretch like a cat. I feel like I do after a day at the beach: skin heated and tingling, hair wild, relaxed and content in a soul-deep way. I’m also parched and indesperate need of some water. I try to wriggle out from underneath him but his arm tightens.
“Where are you going?” His voice is extra-deep and roughened by sleep.
I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “I need water.”
“I’ll get it.”
After thirty seconds go by with no sign of life, I poke him. “I can do it.”
“Just give me a minute.” He yawns and flips onto his back, and it’s agoooodmorning indeed.
“I thought you were the morning person of the two of us,” I tease. He stretches and I try hard not to stare.
Scratch that, I’m totally staring.
“Not today.” He palms my butt cheek and groans, then rolls out of bed, lumbering over to his nightstand. He starts rummaging in his drawer and I leer at him like a deviant, letting out a wolf whistle.
“Hot damn.”
He tosses a drowsy grin over his shoulder. I watch the muscles of his upper back bunch as he pulls on a fresh pair of boxers and swipes at his bedhead. Sleepy Ben may even be hotter than Tux Ben.
“How many calories do you think we burned last night?” I call as he pads into the kitchen. “As my trainer, you need to make sure I’m hitting my goals.”
“Which time?” he calls back. He definitely sounds smug.
My cheeks burn at the memory. I fell asleep almost instantly last night, wrapped in his arms, my head pillowed on his very comfortable biceps. At some point during the night I woke facing away from him, and when I snuggled against him, my back to his front in a “big spoon, little spoon,” I couldn’t resist stroking his thigh—which led to Ben kissing my neck and fondling my breasts, which led to me strokinghimuntil I climbed on top of him and slowly sank down, riding him asmoonlight shone in the window and danced across the shadows of his face. We barely spoke this time, wordlessly taking everything each other had to give, our bodies saying everything we needed to say.
His lips are curved in a smirk as he reenters the room and I accept the water bottle he hands me gratefully. “Speaking of calories, I’m starving,” I add.
“Me too. What are you making?” He grins.
“Do you even have any food here?”
He grimaces sheepishly.
“Seriously?”He shrugs and I groan. “Fine, let’s go to my place. I need clothes anyway.”
“You donotneed clothes.” He drops back onto the bed and pinches my butt.
“I most certainlydoneed clothes. I refuse to put on a gown and do the walk of shame across the street. Can I steal something of yours?” I’m already up and rifling through his drawers.
“This should be amusing,” he says, lying back against the pillows and lacing his fingers behind his head.
I pull out a worn navy T-shirt withVIRGINIAemblazoned across the chest. It’s cozy and well-loved, no doubt softened by hundreds of trips through the wash. I pull it over my head and it falls nearly to my knees. Why does it always look sexy in the movies when a woman puts on a man’s shirt, but I look like I’m wearing a tent? “It’s just a tad big.”
He doesn’t seem to mind. “This is like my every college fantasy come true.”
“Thisis your fantasy?” I hold out my arms, swimming in the tee. “So much for all the lingerie I had planned.”
“Uh, forget I said that.”
