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It’s so cozy. So warm. I feel so content. And so fucking thirsty.
Hand stretched out, I slap around on my nightstand until I find an old bottle of water. I down the entire thing, then toss the bottle away from me. It lands somewhere on the floor. Then, I slap my hand around again, searching for my phone, but it’s not there.
Dammit.Really don’t wanna get up and look for it. I’m beyond wasted and my head is spinning. I’m not even sure I could walk to turn on the closet light I usually keep on.
It’s strange that it’s off because it’s been on since mine and Scar’s first night here.
My dry lips smack together and I curl up in a ball with my comforter wrapped snugly around me.
Then I close my eyes, willing myself to go to sleep.
The second they close, they shoot back open when something falls. I’m not sure what, or where, but something definitely fell. “Hello,” I whisper, staying as still as a board.
It’s so dark. Eerily so. A strange feeling washes over me. And when the mattress at the end of the bed shifts, I realize I’m not alone.
“It’s you,” I choke out through strained vocal cords. “You’re here.”
“I’m here. I came for you.”
I’m stunned. Rendered speechless. He spoke. My God, he has a beautiful voice. Raspy, thick, and masculine.
I feel his presence beside me. He could reach out and touch me. I turn to my side, facing his direction, while freeing my arms from the comforter. I scoot up, hoping to get a glimpse of his face, but it’s pointless.
“I wanna see you when you talk. Turn on the light.”
He doesn’t respond, or do as I ask. He sits down, slumping into the mattress.
“You’re drunk, baby girl. You need water.” He brings a glass to my mouth and I sip the contents. He doesn’t stop until I’ve guzzled the whole glass of water.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
I reach out, touching his bare arm. His skin is ice cold and I’m wondering if he walked here like that. But when I trail my hand farther, I realize he’s not only sleeveless, but completely shirtless. My fingers graze over the fluff on his chest, trailing down the cut of his abs. I’m heavily intoxicated and unable to make responsible choices, so when he takes my hand and drags it downward, I don’t even second-guess the action. Cupping my hand, he curls my fingers and rests them on his erection that’s poking through a pair of sweatpants.
“See what you do to me, Riley?”
His voice again. It sends chills down my spine, but in a good way.
The blanket lifts from my body and he lies down beside me. He’s so cold, yet the heat he’s radiating makes up for the loss of warmth from the blanket.
“I never found you,” I tell him. “You left me hanging.”
“I’m here now.”
“I’m really angry with you. I shouldn’t allow you to lay here with me like nothing ever happened.”
His fingers trail up my leg, not stopping until he’s rimming the hem of my jeans. In a swift motion, he pops the button, and while I should stop him, I don’t. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol swimming through my bloodstream, or the curiosity of how far he’ll go—how far I’lllethim go.
“What are you doing?” I ask, but he keeps his lips tight and doesn’t speak.
When he lifts up and tugs my pants and panties down, my heart gallops. He doesn’t seek approval, or let me aid in the removal. He just tugs them off in one quick jerk, until I’m lying there naked from the waist down.
Ridge maneuvers his body until he’s blanketing mine. I wince as my back sinks into the mattress from the full weight of him lying on top of me.
Biting hard on my bottom lip, I battle the thoughts in my head:
I should stop him.
But I want this.
