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“What?” he asked, catching my hand and pulling it down. His brows furrowed, lips turning down as he stared. “You’re bleeding.”
“You scraped me,” I accused, trying to rub at the injury again.
Denial blazed in his black eyes, making them glitter. “I did not.”
My eyes strayed to the edge of his tank, noting the smear of blood on the edge. Following my gaze, he pulled the fabric out, stretching the neck so he could see. The second he saw the blood, he made a sound and let it go.
Grasping my hips, he pushed me back, and I locked my feet together around his back so he couldn’t make me move.
A low, brief chuckle filled the room and chased off remnants of the nightmare I’d just been embroiled in. In one slick move, Max pulled the shirt over his head, revealing his entire tatted upper body. It wasn’t as if I’d never seen it before. I had lots of times. But I’d never been in his lap. I’d never been clinging to him for comfort.
“Come here.” His voice was gruff, and my stomach dropped.
I stared at him without moving until he grabbed my hips and dragged me back. He used the offending shirt to dab at the bleeding cut before lowering it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, caressing beneath it with his thumb.
More awake now, my entire body was going haywire. The urge to bury myself in him, to inhale his scent and rub my face against his skin, was fucking painful. Need hammered in my veins so potently I wondered dully what it did with my blood.
The other part of me wailed in alarm, warning me this was too much. That I’d never recover if I knew what this kind of contact with Max was like.
“I had a nightmare,” I mumbled, the only words to make it off my tongue.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry I woke you,” I said, unhooking my feet at his back.
God, I was practically drunk on him, on all that skin right fucking there.
I started to slide off his lap, but his palm caught my hip and flexed. I bit into my bottom lip, only remembering not to when I tasted blood.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered, trying to draw me in. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I blanked out for a moment, then realized he meant my dream. He thought I was shaking because of my nightmare, but really, I was quivering because I wanted him so badly.
I shook my head once, managing a single word. “No.”
“Come here.” His voice was quiet and dark, coaxing like some sort of magic spell.
I hesitated one last moment before giving in and letting him push my head down. The second my cheek rested against his completely naked chest, I whimpered.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, stroking my hair, not even caring it was stiff with dried blood. “How’s your head?” His voice was like a cocktail, pooling into my stomach and relaxing every muscle. “Do I need to get the doctor?”
His shirt was wrapped around me, his skin under me, and his hands soothing me. There was literally nothing on this entire planet that would be as good as this.
“No,” I whispered, rubbing against his chest again. A low purr vibrated my throat as my lids grew heavy.
“Go back to sleep now,” he told me. The soft tone he used was one I hadn’t heard before. I wanted to hear it endlessly.
“Can I?” I wasn’t sure if it was permission from him or myself that I sought. So many nights I’d lain in bed and imagined being held like this by him. Not once did my dreams match reality. I wouldsoregret this in the morning, but tonight in the dark, I just didn’t care.
Upon feeling what I was sure was a pair of lips softly grazing my hairline, everything inside me stilled.
“Yes, baby. Sleep.”
I pressed my lips into the side of his neck, waiting to see what would happen. When he only continued to hold me, I let out a deep sigh. Perhaps I was still dreaming. Perhaps my nightmare had shifted into something far better.
Maybe I wouldn’t regret any of this in the morning but clutch instead at a dream while wishing it could be real.
