I clench my teeth together. I won’t be jealous of a ghost from his past. I won’t make myself sick with jealousy for no reason. I chose this deal, same as him.
This is quite literally the bed I made. I just didn’t anticipate how much it would hurt to lie in it.
His lips find the curve of my neck, his breath warm against my skin. His mouth presses in, his lips parted, his exhale warm against my pulse point.
Heat blooms from that spot and spreads. Down my throat. Across my chest and belly and lower. I’m warm everywhere he’s touching me and aching everywhere he isn’t.
The problem is he’s still half asleep.
My whole body has gone sensitized and flushed and the ache is now a hot, relentless throb in my pussy. And Slade calling me “baby” in his sleep-rough voice has made all of it that much worse.
As he rubs his cock against me, his hand moves from my breast down again, sliding across my ribcage. Down my belly.
My breath catches because I know where he’s going and I want him to go there so badly it frightens me.
“Slade.” My voice comes out breathless and unsteady.
I can’t let it go there because he’s asleep and we made a deal and?—
His fingers skim past my bellybutton. Nearly to my pussy. It takes everything to put a stop to this, but I must, because if he were in control of his faculties right now, he wouldn’t be doing this.
I grab his wrist.
“Slade,” I say firmer. “Wake up.”
He stirs, his whole body shifting.
And then he goes absolutely rigid, every muscle, all at once. The hand on my body goes still. His hips stop moving. Even his breathing stops for a full second.
“Lila?”
There it is—my name, as a question. Like he’s shocked to wake up and find it’s really me here, instead of whoever he was dreaming of.
His voice is completely different too, the sleep-rough warmth gone out of it in an instant and replaced by something alert and tight.
“Good morning,” I say.
Another silence.
His hand lifts from my breast slowly. Carefully.
His arm loosens from around my waist. He rolls away and the cold air rushes in where all that warmth was.
The bed shifts as he sits up, keeping his back to me. He’s only in his boxer-briefs and I can see every muscle in his back, taut with tension. His shoulders are tight. His spine is straight. His hands are braced on his knees and the tendons in his forearms are taut, like he’s preparing to take a hit.
I’m still flushed from my hairline to my toes. Still throbbing. Still tingling where his hand and his mouth and his body were pressed against mine. I clutch the duvet tightly to my chest.
“I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing a hand along his stubbled jaw. “I was in the middle of a dream, and I... I didn’t know what I was doing. I wasn’t thinking about…”
I can finish the sentence in my head easily enough:I wasn’t thinking about you.
“I know,” I say.
“That won’t happen again.”
I look at the back of his head. His dark rumpled hair. The broad line of his shoulders. His wedding ring catching the morning light.
“Slade.” I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. “You were asleep. It’s okay. It doesn’t bother me.”
