Page 47 of Fallen Hero

“Sweetness, wake up.”

He thought I was asleep.

I had amnesty. I could explore and there’d be no repercussions.

So I took full advantage and slowly touched everywhere I could. Down to his abdominal muscles. They jumped and flexed under my fingers. Unable to go lower with him holding me, I ventured up. Back over his pec, his nipple, the apex of the throat, over to his collarbone, his shoulder, in and around to the back of his neck. All the while committing the feel to memory. If this was my chance to feel a man’s body—no, Mason’s body—I wasn’t going to forget a single moment.

Before I could finish my examination, I was moving again. This time I was falling. My fingers curled tight until my shoulder and hip touched the soft mattress.

Not falling. Mason was putting me to bed. Before he could see I was awake, I closed my eyes as he untangled himself from me. A soft, cool sheet was pulled over my legs. Mason wasn’t putting me to bed, he was tucking me in.

I ignored the sweetness of that and kept my breathing even. The sheet dropped on my shoulder, my hair was brushed away from my face, and warm lips pressed on my temple.

“Faker,” he whispered.

Damn it all to hell.

I felt him move away. I didn’t hear the door close behind him, but I wouldn’t. Still, I knew he was gone.

Only then did I allow myself to smile at a very good memory I would replay so often, I’d keep it alive. I’d never forget the warmth, my shiver, his tremor. It was the closest I’d ever felt to someone, and I’d need that closeness to keep me company.

Chapter Twelve

Unsurprisingly, Pete was already awake, dressed, and caffeinated by the time I made it to the kitchen.

“Coffee’s made.”

He sounded too happy.

I grunted.

“Hurry up and get some of that in you so you can shake off your grouch-ass mood. We’ve got work to do.”

Coffee wasn’t going to touch my mood.

Not this morning.

Not after feeling Calista’s hands on me—her soft, tentative touch. It was fucked, but once I realized she was awake, I wanted to tip her head back so I could see her eyes when she touched me. I felt her shiver, but I wanted to see the accompanying look.

Did the blue of her eyes deepen with lust? Did her face go soft with desire? I wanted to know almost as badly as I wanted to know if her nipples had pebbled under that flimsy satin robe. I hadn’t trusted myself to look; that would only lead to me needing to find out if she was as wet as my dick was stiff.

Her pretending to be asleep had been torture. I’d stupidly given myself permission to allow her hand to move on me freely. It was nothing more than lightly skimming my chest. I could categorize the whole episode as juvenile. But it hadn’t felt innocent, and not just because I hadn’t been with a woman in a long-ass time. Though I could use that as an excuse as to why I got myself off in the shower, remembering how her thumb had felt teasing my nipple.

Christ.

I had to stop this shit. What was next, I’d beg my way to second base and get some side-boob action? I was a grown fucking man jerking off to the hesitant touch of a woman. I had far better memories of past experiences.

Fuck.

I shoved the carafe back into the machine harder than necessary.

“What’d I miss?” Fallon asked as he came into the room shirtless and with his hair still wet.

“Put on some fucking clothes,” I growled.

“Someone needs to crawl back into bed and roll out on the right side.”

“If you think that someone is me, you can shove your opinion up your ass right after you put on a shirt.”