AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Something is tickling my ear, and I try to brush my hair away from it before falling back to sleep.
But it won’t stop, and that’s when my eyes fly open.
Patrick. In my bed.I didn’t object to him staying last night.
And now he’s holding me, my body cradled against him like I’m his anchor in the night when he was supposed to be that for me. His breath gently blows past my ear, tickling the strands of hair that have fallen over the lobe.
I lie perfectly still, trying to catalog what I’ve gotten myself into. His leg wedged between mine, our lower limbs tangled, and while I can’t feel what’s between his legs pressed against my ass, everything south of my waist has begun to tingle. The pressure of his arm on my waist, like it’s natural to have this masculine body cuddled against mine. The way he’s at peace, completely relaxed as he pulled me into him sometime during the night.
Basking in the moment before he wakes and it’s ruined by awkwardness, I let my eyes drift closed. I let myself imagine a world where this is my every day, my eyes fluttering awake as I’m held by a man who doesn’t care what my Hollywood career means or which multimillion-dollar project I’ll take next. In a house no bigger than your average apartment, set on rolling green hills in the middle of nowhere. Where there is nothing but the chirping of birds and a deep sense of happiness to wake up to this perfectly average life.
Patrick makes a noise at my back like he’s clearing his throat, and he shifts so that I’m pressed even farther against him. I revel in it, allowing myself to abandon all reality and snuggle back in a mutual fashion.
“Mmm.” Patrick’s arm around my waist tenses, and I feel something hard press against the globes of my butt.
It sends a jolt of electricity straight to the pulsing bud between my legs.
He likely isn’t even awake, only reacting to the sensations he’s experiencing in his dreamlike state … but still. The thought of Patrick rolling on top of me has dirty,dirtythoughts running through my head.
Trying to scoot away a bit so I don’t get caught seducing him in his sleep because I’m hanging by a thread here, I end up flipping over to try to scoot backward.
Except that only has Patrick pulling me closer, until we’re practically nose to nose.
He blinks those long black eyelashes, sleep ruffling his hair and clothes. He looks even more delicious than the all-American, put-together Patrick Ashton that Hope Crest knows and loves.
“Morning.” I can’t help the smile that lifts my mouth.
“Morning.” His voice is gravelly and sends a zing of need down my spine.
We’re lying on our sides, face-to-face, with his leg between mine and his arm thrown over my hip. I’m not sure if he’s aware he spooned me during the night or if he doesn’t care now to remove them. One thing I’ve realized about Patrick is that he doesn’t embarrass easily. When he’s wrong, he seems to admit it. And when he’s caught in a compromising position, like now, he seems not to take it back if it’s something he really wants.
“Thanks for,uh, staying.” I’m nervous, and I haven’t been nervous around a man in a very long time.
“Of course.” He grins. “You should know, I didn’t ask to stay in your bed for something like this to happen.”
“I guess you just got lucky then.” Sleeping through the night with no danger present has left me with a renewed sense of confidence.
And that’s what I like to think I have when it comes to men. I’ve never, not since I decided to put the rat incident behind me, been weak or non-vocal when it comes to the opposite sex. I ask for what I want, I don’t shy away from sex if I’m in the mood, and if I want someone, I don’t play games.
Which is why I stay still while Patrick closes the distance between us, our heads cushioned by the pillows as his lips tentatively take mine. It’s a question, this kiss, and I answer by nipping gently at his bottom lip. That seems to spur him on, his tongue lavishing mine as we scoot closer, his hands coming to rest on my waist. Those long fingers, ones I want in places much more sensitive, stroke the expanse of skin that’s exposed due to my shirt riding up.
My God, this man can kiss. The way he steals my breath heightens every sense and builds up sensations inside me that no one has ever done with just their mouth on mine and it’s not fair.
When he pulls back, I almost shake my head in protest.
“We shouldn’t do this,” Patrick whispers against my lips.
I’m not surprised or even disappointed. Because we shouldn’t. There are way too many complications.
“We shouldn’t.”
“Can’t seem to stop though,” he murmurs, his hand sliding into my hair and gripping my nape gently.
I know what he means because my body moves like it’s not even listening to my mind. I press closer to him, my pajama-clad legs pressing against his jeans, my nipples begging to be free of the shirt now pressing into his chest.
As he presses those lips to my neck, sucking on a spot that makes my hips buck, I know I won’t stop this. I’ve been undecided on so many things in my life over the last year, and this is the first one I know, from every angle, I am sure about.
Our kisses become more passionate; our lips so sealed together that we barely come up for air. It’s like we’re machines helping each other to breathe. At first, it’s just a steamy adult make out in my bed, our hips grinding against each other as we search for friction but keep our hands in neutral zones.
