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“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She shakes her head and crawls next to me, pulling the blanket over her and resting her head in my lap. “I don’t want to be alone right now. Do you mind?”
I put my plate on the end table and run my hand through her hair. “‘Course not,” I answer, and my voice cracks.
If she notices, she doesn’t say anything, but damn, this is intimate.
I turn off the light, my hand running over her side in circles. Eventually, my eyes fail me, and I end up falling asleep right along with her.
Twenty-One
Brinley
I wake up to the flicker of some infomercial playing. The rock-hard thigh under my ear doesn’t move as I slowly rise. Van’s head rests on the back cushion, his mouth partly open and his eyes shut. I take a moment to unapologetically gawk at him. He’s not the kind of man I’d usually be attracted to. Sure, the muscles and the chiseled chin are hot, but I always picked the safe guys.
I haven’t really compared him to Sawyer too much in my mind, which is probably because Van’s so opposite. It would just be a list of differences and no similarities, except for the fact that they both give me that feeling of safety, but in very different ways.
With Sawyer, I felt like long term, we’d be okay financially. He worked at an investment brokerage, and even though he was young, he was driven and was already building up his clientele. Whereas with Van, I feel physically safe. Whether it’s an animal or a person wishing to harm us, he’d protect me to the death. He’s so ruggedly masculine it’s impossible not to feel like he can handle anything that comes his way.
And then, on the Girl Scouts camping trip, I saw a side of him I wasn’t sure existed. A community man. Everyone loved him. Even BuzzWheel reported on it, and all the parents chimed in in the comments about how much more fun the event was with Van there. The leader asked me if he could help plan next year’s campout.
His body stiffens and his head moves right then left before an agonized cry whimpers out of him. He’s having a nightmare.
“Van.” I grab his hand, but he slides it out of mine.
“No. No,” he murmurs. “Go back. I can do it.”
His words are almost inaudible, but his body’s movements make it clear he’s having a nightmare, so I straddle his lap, putting my hands on his cheeks. “Van.”
“Just go back,” he says, sounding defeated. “Please.”
“Van.”
I run the back of my hand down the side of his face, and his eyes slowly peel open. He looks around the room as if to figure out where he is and sighs when his eyes meet mine.
“What are you doing?” he asks, blinking as if I’m a vision.
“You were having a nightmare.”
“I was? Sorry.”
I smile. “You don’t have to apologize. Are you okay now? Do you want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head. “No.” His hands land on my hips and I rock them on instinct.
Our eyes lock, our faces only lit by the muted television.
“Brinley,” he says, and my name sounds like a plea from his lips.
I move my hips again, and his fingers dig into my hips in an attempt to stop me.
“I want to.” I press my lips to his jawline, casting a line of kisses up to his ear. “Please, Van.”
He breathes heavily, and I feel his body give up the fight underneath me. His hands slide up under my shirt, and his calloused fingertips feel like heaven as they venture along my bare skin. I inch closer to him, feeling his hard length at my core and I’m desperate for more.
“Oh, god,” I whisper and rock against it, remembering what I’ve missed all these years.
There have been times I’ve craved a man, but being here with him now, I truly mourn the years I pleasured myself because with every little cant of my hips, his dick pulses, and he groans from the pleasure we’re sharing.
