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“Done?” I asked, holding my toiletries and pajamas in my arms.
He nodded and opened up another water bottle. “All yours.”
I scooted into the bathroom, where I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and changed into a T-shirt and lounge pants, which took all of five minutes. Ten, at the most. Yet when I walked back out, I found Dean already fast asleep, his arm thrown over his face, the sheets pulled halfway up his body.
I tossed my dress into my bag before curling up on my bed, easily drifting off to sleep.
Only to be shocked awake in the middle of the night by snoring. I flipped over, blinking into the darkness of the room, and pushed up onto my elbow. Feet from me, Dean was sawing wood, adrift in peaceful slumber, totally unaware that being in the same room with him was like listening to theWheel of Fortunewheel spin without the chance of winning a prize.
“Dean.” When he didn’t answer, I sat up. “Dean!” That rattling snore reverberated again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I threw one of my pillows at him, but he kept right on going. “Wake up!”
I flopped back down and covered my head with another pillow, though it barely muffled the maddening sound. “Dean!” I jumped out of bed and leaned over him, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Once they did, I saw his mouth was wide open, his naked chest expanding with every snore. I shook him. “You need to wake up.”
He jolted and tossed his arm away from his face, almost hitting me in the process, as he blinked up at me.
“You’re snoring like a goddamn bear,” I told him, and he mumbled an apology. I moved to step away from his bed, but his hand closed around my wrist and he pulled me down to him with a startling amount of force for his being half asleep. In shock, I fell onto his mattress as he turned on his side, and I peered over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
This prick was asleep already, unconsciously cuddling with me.
“Dean.” I dug my elbow into his stomach. “Dean!”
His face was buried in my neck. “Hmm?”
“Wake up and let go of me.”
He didn’t, but he did drape his leg over me. With his arm around my middle, his thigh holding me in place, and his steady breaths against the back of my head, I was trapped.
I sighed. “I hate that I like you too.”
Then I hunkered down and made myself comfortable, falling asleep in the cushion of Dean’s arms.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Dean
My fingers twitched as my body whirred to life, my brain like coffee beans in a grinder, and I shifted, barely aware. I inhaled cinnamon and flowers and comfort, my arms constricting around something soft, and I nuzzled my face against the pillow. A growing heat spread from my arms and legs to my groin, and I unconsciously ground my erection forward as my mind sputtered and chugged awake. I flattened my palm against my bed…
But my bed moved, and I blinked, forcing my eyes open, even as my head protested. I lifted my arm, only now realizing what I thought was my bed was a person. A dark-haired, sharp-tongued, remarkably soft person.
I blinked, fully awake this time, and leaned back as I yawned. The inside of my head clamored for more sleep, but the woman next to me rolled over, revealing a face so serene I almost couldn’t believe it was real.
I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes, clearing the sleep from them, then studied her more closely. Morning sunshine spilled in from the curtains on the other side of the room, lighting the room in a muted glow. Taylor’s hair was a mess, chunks of it across her cheek, and I used the tip of my finger to push them behind her ear, then traced down her jawline. When she didn’t wake up, I touched the bow of her top lip, gently rubbing side to side, and I didn’t know why or when she’d gotten in my bed, but I really liked waking up to her.
Which was a surprising but not completely unwanted feeling.
Pieces of the previous day filtered through my memory. Her dress, her breath on my neck when we danced, her soft gasp when I squeezed her neck, her eyes sparkling with desire when I called her out for wanting me to be jealous. I might have drunk a lot at the reception, but I recognized blatant craving when I saw it. And she wanted me as badly as I wanted her.
Which was why I had this raging hard-on the longer I looked at her.
I woke up with morning wood all the time, but not like this. I stared down at the steel pipe in my underwear and dropped my head back to my pillow. “Fuck me.”
Taylor didn’t move, still fast asleep, and I carefully extricated my left arm out from under her then snuck out the other side of the bed. With the door to the bathroom closed, I bent over the counter, trying to get a hold of myself and my hangover.
I drank water straight from the tap and found a bottle of pain relievers, swallowing down three of them before brushing my teeth. I stared at myself in the mirror, my mind inundated with flashes of my hands on Taylor, on her bare back, on her neck, her chin. Blood rushed south, swelling my already hard cock, and I gripped the edge of the sink, spitting and then rinsing my mouth out.
I was so hard, so painfully hard, I had to do something about it, and I couldn’t even wait for the shower to warm up. Instead, I shoved my underwear to the floor and wrapped my hand around my length, gripping it tightly, as I closed my eyes, remembering how Taylor shuddered when I skimmed my fingers down her spine, how her pupils widened when I not-so-playfully threatened to put my dick in her mouth.
Grinding my molars, I imagined the shape of her lips around me, how she’d use that tongue for something else besides trying to take me down a peg. God, I’d love to see her on her knees.
