Page 43 of Read With Your Heart

His fingers move, methodically pressing small circles on the side of my head. The pressure he applies feels nice, so I rotate back to my prior position, facing the covered window and closing my eyes.

I don’t ever really sleep when my head hurts like this. I just doze, giving in to the weight of my body pressed against the mattress. I didn’t think I could sleep, especially with Leon behind me, touching me so intimately, but I drift into a peaceful bliss for a bit.

When his fingers stop massaging, I’m too relaxed to move, and I wait for him to shift away from my bed. Instead, his head comes closer to mine, his breath brushing my hair, and an arm loops over my waist. A blanket covers me, but I haven’t undressed from my school outfit. Eventually, Leon’s arm tightens a bit, and his front presses against my back. I should ask him what he’s doing. I should tell him to get out, but the comfort of him behind me and the tender massage to my temple has me feeling like mush.

I sleep for a while and wake to find Leon still at my back.

Abruptly twisting, I startle him. His lids flip open, his eyes searching my face. He lifts his head a second to take in my room, and then he blinks. His arm still rests over my waist. Staring up at the window across the room, he exhales.

“I used to look out my window into this room,” he admits, and my mouth falls open. He cranes his neck to look at me still watching him over my shoulder. “I saw you.”

What did he see? Me undressing? Me naked? Did he know sometimes I touched myself looking over at his window?

“I saw you, too,” I tell him, my voice groggy from sleep. I hold his eyes with mine, and the corner of his mouth crooks upward.

“What did you see, pretty lady?” he asks with a hint of knowing in his voice, but I won’t admit what I saw. Him undressing. Him naked. Him touching himself one night before the window.

As he pops up to lean on his elbow, his quick movement causes me to fall to my back. His arm remains over my middle, but the blanket covering me has drifted to my waist.

“Tell me what you saw,” he commands, his voice soft as his eyes search my face. I lick my lips and bite the edge.

“Sometimes you were dressed,” I admit, and his unbalanced grin grows.

“And sometimes I wasn’t?” he adds. His eyes move to my throat, and his hand covers it, holding his palm in place while I swallow. “You have nothing to be afraid of with me.”

He’s so wrong. I have everything to be afraid of, especially with him. I want him in ways I shouldn’t. My chest rises and falls. I don’t respond to his declaration as his flattened palm moves to my sternum.

“How is your headache?” he questions, his eyes on his hand at my breastbone. His fingers spread, and the heat from his palm warms my already sleep-dampened skin.

“Better.” My voice rings with surprise because I am shocked. I actually do feel better.

“Good,” he whispers. His fingers spread, dipping into the material of my dress, which has loosened while I slept. A hint of my bra is exposed, and his hand moves lower, resting in the valley between my breasts. The achy globes are small, so the gap between them is wide. Each tingles with anticipation, hyperaware of the edge of his hand brushing tender skin simultaneously.

“Did you ever see me get off over there?”

“What?” I choke while watching his face. He keeps his eyes focused on the back of his hand. He flips it, his knuckles coasting lightly up and down the skin between my breasts, forcing my dress to spread open.

“Answer me, baby,” he quietly demands, and I swallow again.

“Once,” I whisper.

His eyes leap to mine and hold. “Only once?”

“Well, I’d seen you walking around in there a bunch of times, but one time, in particular, stands out.” The window night.

He smiles down at me, pressing the heel of his hand at the material covering each breast, brushing it side to side, forcing the cotton to slide to the side and open wider. The front clasp of my bra is revealed, and with a pinch, he has it undone.

“I promised I’d wait until you ask for my touch, but I’m thinking you won’t, so I’ll ask you, instead. Is this okay?” My breath hitches as his hand continues to move methodically. The cups of my bra spread farther apart, catching on peaked nipples. My chest rises and falls under his heavy steel gaze. The heat of his palm makes me shiver. I’m ready to beg him to touch me.

“What did you think when you watched me?” he inquires, and I’m coming out of my skin. I can’t tell him what I thought, but the images return. His vigorous tugging. The strength of his arm. The length of him silhouetted in the window. And how I want all of it.

My eyes close, and I swallow.

“That good, baby?” he mutters, his hand lowering. He watches as more flesh is revealed with each movement of the heel of his hand against my sensitive skin. His fingers lower to my belly and then skim upward. My dress falls completely open. My bra pops over the nipples with the next deep inhale, exposing everything to him.

I softly gasp as his palm coasts over one breast, tweaking the firm nub. He cups his hand, wrapping around the swell, and squeezes. My back arches. Heat rushes to my belly.

Oh God, he’s going to make me come just from touching me like this.