AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Fucking hell, this was too… intimate.
The cool air of the room finally sank in, chilling her skin. His face was buried beside her head, face into the mattress. He was still asleep, based on his very slow, steady breathing.
She lifted her arm off his leg. When he didn’t rouse, she tried lifting his knee off her. Then she slid her body out from under him, biting back a moan.
Jesus fucking Christ, she felt good. They way she felt after a Thai massage. Like she might have a full-body bruise the next day, only to find out her body felt twenty years younger.
After several patient minutes, she finally shimmied to the edge of the bed and rolled off. He lay almost exactly as he had, still sound asleep. His tatted, muscled body was dark against the white sheets.
She ripped her gaze away and grabbed a blanket that had pooled on the floor. Wrapping it around her, she padded out of the room. At the bar, she flipped on the tap and poured herself a glass of water.
Outside, the twinkling lights of Seattle were gone, blocked by clouds. Only the immediate trees were visible, lit orange shapes from the light post outside the security building.
“Fucking hell,” she muttered, sipping the water. She hated to admit it, but… the fucker was good at sex. Fuckinggreatat it, and she realized she wasn’t all that.
She’d never had complaints from any of the guys in her Fuck Book, but then they would probably be happy fucking a Kleenex box.
“Shit,” she murmured with a sigh. And she’d have to admit it to him. She wasn’t the sort of woman to withhold credit where it was due.
She drained the glass of water, then refilled it. Walking into the bedroom, she froze in the doorway when she saw him sitting up against the headboard.
“Hey,” he greeted, pulling the sheet up around his waist.
“You can’t be shy after what you did to me,” she teased, resuming her walk to his side of the bed. She handed him the glass, and he took a long drink, handing it back.
“Did to you? We should talk about what you did to me,” he replied, as he tugged open her blanket and reached inside to fondle her tit.
“What I did to you? You’re admitting I did something?” she said, setting the glass on the bedside table.
She gathered the blanket, getting ready to climb over him, when he lifted her up and set her on the bed beside him. Then he adjusted the sheet and her blanket until they lay beside each other, covered to their shoulders.
“Yes,” he admitted, rolling to his side to face her. She did the same. “A lot more than something, although if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”
She laughed and quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Same. I can’t have anyone ruining my reputation for being a cold-hearted bitch,” she said.
“Deal,” he said, his eyes dropping to her neck and then her chest, then skittering to her broken collarbone. He poked the covers up into a V so he could get a better look. “Roller derby, I assume?”
“Yes. All my scars and broken bones are from derby,” she answered, which wasn’t exactly true.
As she looked into his eyes, the blue deepening, and she knew what he was about to do before his arm moved.
“What about this one?” he asked, ignoring the snake on her right breast and pointing to a flowering vine on her right arm. It was broken in the center, and had a lightning bolt arcing through it. “That looks… lasered?”
His finger touched the place where she’d had the vine broken.
“It was,” she acknowledged. “The vine was for my parent’s marriage, then they got divorced.”
It was the story she always told, but it wasn’t the actual story.
“Was it a happy marriage that broke your Cinderella dreams when they split?” he asked, and though his voice was light-hearted, there was a weight to the question.
She stared at him. There was no teasing in his expression.
“Did you know you can be almost any age and get a tattoo?” she asked, stalling. Telling the story of the tattoo felt like a big step. It was only a story and yet… it was her story, and one she had told nobody.
“Anyone can get anything if they have enough money,” he grunted, and his gaze left hers to look at the tattoo again. His finger traced the bottom of the vine, where she’d had some of the curling lines and leaves transformed into something different. “I’m sure you know that, working at this place.”
