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Gathering me against him, he rolls us until I’m sprawled out over his chest, and his fingers lazily run down the damp skin on my back, making me shiver. “Cold?” he questions, and I shake my head, feeling my eyes get heavy. “You okay?”
Still unable to talk, I nod against his chest and tighten my hold on him, listening to his breathing even out and his heartbeat return to normal.
“I should clean up,” I whisper, and his hold on me tightens.
“I’ll clean you up.” He kisses the top of my head then rolls us to our sides, pulling out of me gently. He scoots down the mattress, placing a kiss to my stomach then my hip before getting off the bed. He tosses a blanket over me, and I lose sight of him when my eyes slide closed, too heavy to keep open any longer.
A few minutes later, I feel a wet cloth between my legs, and my eyes open to meet his warm gaze. “I think you killed me,” I tell him, and he smiles, bending to kiss my bare shoulder, neck, and then lips. “Death by orgasm,” I continue, and he laughs, tossing the wet rag toward the open bathroom door. I hear it land with a soggy plop as he gets into bed with me and pulls me against his side. “Just so you know, I might not ever kiss you again before I leave for work.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m not joking,” I inform him, lifting my head to look at him.
He runs his fingers through my hair, studying me as something works in his beautiful eyes, something that makes me want to hold onto him a little tighter. “As much as I enjoyed what we just did, I need you to kiss me before you leave.”
The gently spoken demand makes my heart clench in my chest. “I…” I want to ask him why, but I don’t. Instead, I whisper, “Okay,”
“Okay.” He dips his chin and kisses my forehead, asking there, “You hungry?”
“A little.”
“Want me to make you a sandwich?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll be back. Gonna take Dizzy out one more time. You rest.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s been busy checking out my place since he got here.” He tucks some hair behind my ear and I nod, not at all surprised that Dizzy is more interested in exploring than greeting me. “Be back.” He kisses my forehead before sliding out of bed. I watch him put on his jeans without his boxers and pull his tee over his head. Once he’s dressed, he turns on the TV and hands me the remote before disappearing.
Lying in his bed, cocooned in his scent, I stare at the TV, pondering what that was about—the kiss. I wonder if it had something to do with losing his parents. I haven’t spoken to him about them since the day he told me they passed when he was young. I should talk to him about it; I know I should. I just don’t know how to bring it up. When I hear the front door open and close, I get up out of bed and go grab my overnight bag, which he moved to the couch in the living room. I drop it to the end of his bed and get out my nightgown and a pair of panties. Going into the bathroom, I take care of business and get dressed.
When I walk back into his bedroom, retying my hair, I stop dead. His room at the compound might be dirty and gross, but his room here is clean and surprisingly well put together. A black leather headboard with brushed metal grommets nailed into the material is a focal point in the room. Black nightstands sit on either side of the bed, with brushed metal lamps on top of each. A dresser against the wall by the door is also black with a dark blue and silver bowl on top, where he obviously drops all the odds and ends from his pockets. Looking at his bedding, which I know is soft, I realize it matches that bowl. It’s the same dark blue with silver, but with cream running through it in a horizontal stripe. The walls are bare, but they don’t really need anything on them. The headboard is high enough to look like a piece of art, and the curtains he has up give the room a finished look.
Hearing the front door open, I realize I’ve been standing in his bedroom taking everything in for a while. Looking around, I spy one of his flannel shirts, so I grab it, slip it on over my nightgown, and then head for the living room. As soon as Dizzy spots me, he runs across the room and I bend, scooping him up and kissing the top of his head.
“Did you call your dad?” Harlen asks from the kitchen, and I turn to look at him.
