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But I can’t. I need to touch her.
Stalking over to her, I rest my chin on her head and watch her as she cooks. The smells are heavenly, but the way she works away without a worry in the world is even better. I want to roll around in this ease that seems to hover around her like a sweet fog. I want it to cloak me too.
“The key to cutting a perfect grilled cheese sandwich,” she explains as if I have been wondering all my life about these things, “is a good spatula. This metal one is the right size and kind of sharp.” She slides the sandwiches onto two plates, and I watch with amusement as she uses the spatula to cut the sandwiches in two rather than using a knife. Hot cheese melts from the center, and my stomach grumbles.
She laughs, and my chest clenches with joy. “That’s what I thought, big boy. Sit down.”
Reluctantly, I pull away from her and take my seat. She flits about the kitchen grabbing chips and pouring milk. Eventually, she takes her seat beside me.
She babbles on about her friend named Saskia and a show called Big Brother and how her cats Beavis and Butt-Head came to get their names. I try to listen but only hear bits and pieces. I’m too busy staring at the crumbs on her lips, desperately wanting to lick them off.
“Pop quiz,” she announces.
I blink at her in confusion. “What?”
“For someone ultra-focused, you sure do retreat inside of that head of yours. Are you paying attention to me?”
“You’re all I see.”
Her lips spread into a wide grin. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you off the hook because that was really sweet.” A blush blooms across her cheeks. “Come. I want to show you something.”
She walks. I follow.
Inside her messy room, I should be twitching and angered. I’m a clean freak by nature. Messes and me don’t mesh well. Yet, this messy, crazy, horribly dressed girl is in my world wreaking all kinds of havoc, and it’s addictive. I don’t want it gone. I want more and more and more of it.
“Get comfy,” she instructs. “We’re going to watch movies and cuddle.”
I let out a snort. “I don’t cuddle.”
Her hands go to her hips, and she juts them out to the side as she arches a brow at me. “You do now, Stalker Darden.” Then she waves over at the bed. “I’ll be back.”
I strip down to my boxers while she showers in the bathroom, and my mind races. I’m in unchartered waters here, and I’m fucking sinking. The thought of climbing out of her lumpy bed and dressing in an effort to retreat back to my comfort zone is strong.
But then she prances back into her room, beautiful and brilliant and bright, and I’m resuscitated. No longer drowning. No longer panicked and confused.
I’m mesmerized.
Her robe is silky and transparent. I can see the shape of her naked body underneath perfectly. She starts a movie and then climbs into bed with me. Her legs tangle with mine as she settles herself at my side.
My cock is rock hard, and my heart is galloping.
I want to pin her down and fuck my crazy into her. Make her see it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. It can’t be wiped away by a movie called The-motherfucking-Notebook.
But her sighs . . .
Goddamn, those sighs.
Happy. Content. Relaxed.
I want to breathe them in and live off them.
“Cuddling,” she explains. “You’re supposed to relax. It’s supposed to calm you.”
With her palm splayed on my bare chest, I can feel my heart beat slowing. She remains still, and I find myself engrossed in the movie. A fucking movie. It isn’t until the credits roll and my little snorer drools on me that I realize—I can do this. I think. I fucking hope. I’ll try my damnedest, that’s for sure.
Hank, the curious little fucker, jumps on the bed and curls up against her back. Evidently, he knows all about this cuddle shit and is a fan.
Hank may be a texture man . . .
But I’m a cuddle man, it would seem.
I smile at the fucking cat.
12
Cerys
I roll over in bed, reaching for James, but find his side of the bed cold. His side. I make it sound like he belongs there. As if he’s spent night after night next to me, holding me. But it’s not like that. Last night was the first time I ever fell asleep next to another human being in this bed.
Even when Saskia stays over, she has the guest room.
Attempting to ignore the ache in my chest, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pad into my en suite bathroom. Brushing my teeth, I glance in the mirror, noticing the bright red mark on my chest. Teeth marks. He really did mark me. But then he left.
