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My soul.
Just this afternoon, I’d gotten my weekly fatherly lecture. Then the shock of Joel hearing it. Then the shock of Joel intruding on my planning time. Then the shock of Joel intruding on my body—
Okay, the last wasn’t fair.
I’d wanted that intrusion.
Needed it to blow off steam. Needed the orgasm like I’d needed to breathe.
And I’d managed to do itmyway.
With him knowing that he was fucking me, that it wasonlyfucking, that it wasn’t going to mean anything more than fucking.
But now he’d fallen asleep, his large body crammed into the couch, taking up way too much space. His big, strong arms wrapped around me; face buried in my throat. Beard tickling my skin. Breath puffing out, warm and a little damp. His smell—spicy and male—all in my nose.
I wanted him.
Wantedit.
This.
And it was something Icouldn’thave, couldn’t allow myself towantto have.
Meanwhile, Joel was out like a baby who’d figured out his shit and was finally sleeping all the way through the night. And I was the newborn up at a two in the morning, wanting something, fussy and not understanding why.
Food. Diaper change. More sleep. Being held and rocked.Gas.
Nope.
Awake and ready to party for no fucking reason.
Or—in my case—awake, held in Joel’s arms on my lumpy ass couch, and freaking the fuck out.
It was an effort to just breathe evenly, to not hyperventilate.
But I was used to making an effort.
So, I laid there for long minutes, steadying my breathing, coming up with a plan. I mentally tagged the locations of my clothes, my backpack, my shoes.
Then I waited for sleep to settle into him deeply, for his arms to relax around me.
To have an opportunity to escape.
It took a while, but it happened—his arm that had been wrapped against my chest, holding me flush to his big, warm body dropped away, falling to the worn material of the couch.
I took my chance, slipping away from him, and doing it in inches.
Until I was away from his body. And he didn’t move.
Until I was on the floor, knees first. Then up to my feet. And he didn’t move.
Until I was tiptoeing carefully, not shaking the floor any more than I had to. Underwear on. Shirt over my head. Sweats up my hips. I hadn’t spotted my socks from the couch and standing, I turned away from Joel, my eyes trying not to drift to his naked body—the man was so fucking gorgeous that it wasn’t fair—Istillcouldn’t find my socks. So, I stopped trying.
I just grabbed my shoes, my backpack, my keys.
And I got the fuck out, closing my office door silently, flicking the lock, just in case someone came in early, eliminating the chance for someone to catch an eyeful of Joel. Then, still tiptoeing carefully, only this time doing it down the hall, out through the door, flicking that lock too.
Across the cold pavement, my bare feet frigid and jabbed with the occasional rock.
