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“It’s pretty on you.” I kiss her, hoping to wipe away the embarrassment that’s seeping in. “Hey, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“It’s good. This is good.”
She wiggles out from under me, sits up, and closes her eyes. “Good, yeah.”
But I see through her. She’s going to blame the alcohol. I can tell because I see regret taking over. As soon as I sit up, I wrap my arms around her and pull her onto my lap. She leans her head on my shoulder, and I kiss her neck.
I whisper, “It was good. It was fantastic, in fact, just like you are. Don’t overthink this or twist it into something bad.”
She sighs. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Only if you stay the night.”
That makes her smile again. “Well, if you’re going to blackmail me, then I suppose I have no choice.” She’s coming back around to her usual self, rolling her tired eyes as her smile widens.
A playful hit to my chest tells me she’s happy, so I flip her onto her back again. I kiss her once, twice, three times nice and quick before she can escape. “Stay with me because you want to, not because you feel you have to.”
She plants a kiss on my chin. “I want to stay. Now get off me, you big oaf. You got me all . . . sticky and sweaty. I doubt you want sticky and sweaty in your fabulously soft sheets. What thread count are these anyway?”
I laugh, once again amused by how her mind works. “They’re eight hundred—the perfect mix between stiff and too silky.”
“I think I should worry that your sheets have been so thoroughly thought out.”
“Oh, you should definitely be worried, but not about my sheets.”
She rolls out from under me and stands, her hands cupping her breasts. She’s covering herself, but she doesn’t understand how hot she looks—swimsuit model hot. Turning around and sauntering toward the bathroom, she wiggles her ass and winks. “Worried, huh?”
I throw a pillow at her, making her giggle. “Yes, worried, very worried if you keep that up, you tease.”
She pokes her head out from the bathroom. “I’m not a tease, and if I remember correctly, you’re a lot sticky and sweaty yourself.”
I jump to my feet. “We should shower together, then.”
That makes her laugh. “Um . . . yeah, no. Too soon for that business.”
On that note, she shuts the door, and I fall backward on the bed as if I’ve been shot. I realize, I have been shot—right through the heart by Cupid. Damn that little cherub. When I least expected it, my life has been completely derailed, yet I’m excited to move in the new direction.
I rush to the kitchen and grab two bottles of water from the fridge, setting one on each nightstand.
When she returns, I pass her, stopping to steal one more kiss. She happily obliges me. Her minty breath makes me curious if she used my toothbrush.
“Help yourself to something to eat. I brought you a bottle of water and set it over there.”
She slaps my ass and says, “Thanks.”
As I shut the bathroom door, I can see her crawling under the covers with a smile on her face. I hurry, wanting to climb in bed and hold her until she falls asleep.
When I come out, I slip under the blanket and sheet and scoot next to her until we’re touching. She rolls onto her side, her back against my chest. I take her hand and drape my arm over her, holding our hands against her chest.
Chapter 12
Charlie B
I open my eyes slowly. It burns, so I clamp them shut again. The silence is deafening, unsettling, and the weight over my ribs, although warm, is concerning. I startle, realizing a person is snuggled against my back.
My body stiffens, tense with unease as a million memories race through my head. Charlie. Happy eyes, wet kisses, tickles, sparks, tingling, release.
The thoughts engulf me until I realize I drank too much. I shouldn’t have come back to his place. I knew this would happen. I felt the sexual tension building at the club. All the laughs, little touches, flirting, and his warm breath laced with Jack Daniels heated my face and sent sensations straight to my core.
When my mind was vulnerable, my body betrayed me, and he whispered sweet words to me last night. I know they were lies to comfort me, but I became weak to the gorgeous man who has become my friend . . . was . . . is . . . oh God, I hope we can still be friends.
He might not want to be once he wakes up and realizes that after six months of abstinence, I’m a complete wanton whore. Maybe he already thinks that.
Oh no! My hands dart to my vagina, and relief washes over me as I discover my panties are still on. I mean, I think I would remember having sex after all this time of, well, not having sex, but I needed the confirmation just to make sure.
