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His voice is low and gravelly, sending a bolt of desire to my heated core.
You’re a tipsy, sex-starved maniac.Get. Upstairs. Now.
“Right. Well, you know where the kitchen is if you do. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
“To whatever I need?”
I shrug. “Sure. Our kitchen mirrors yours so you should find your way around. You’re welcome to anything.”
“Why are you behaving like a hotel?” He throws off the blanket and stands. There’s far too much soft skin and hard muscle in front of my face.
“Do hotels offer you access to the kitchen? Wait, don’t answer that. They probably do for you.”
He laughs under his breath. “Who do you think I am?”
“Rich and privileged.”
“That’s notwhoI am.”
“You’re right,” I say, not at all believing it. Honestly, I just don’t want to have this conversation. It’ll only lead to an argument, and it’s already been a long day.
On a sigh, he chucks the pillow he was gripping on the sofa like it’s pissed him off. “Good night, Ainsley.”
Apparently we’re done now. I’ve been dismissed.
“Night,” I reply, my tone snippier than I intended. I don’t want him to know that he’s bothered me.
I leave him to it and climb the stairs to my room. Each footstep feels heavy, but I don’t know why.
Yes, you do.
It’s super strange to have him in the house, and that’s messing with my head… and my body. It’s like we’re two different entities. My mind knows what Casper is, but my body just wants him to fuck me.
I’m giving up wine, it’s no good.
Once ready for bed, I walk from the bathroom to my bedroom and resist looking towards the stairs. It’s not like I’d be able to see him, anyway. He’ll probably be snoring on the sofa in the time it took me to complete my skincare routine.
He’ll be fine. I don’t need to check on him.
There is nothing I need from downstairs.
I close my door and double check that the I’ve not accidentally left it open because that’s the level of crazy I’ve reached. Anxiety swirls in my stomach so badly that I’m not sure I’ll get much sleep tonight.
There being another person in the house should be comforting, but I feel buzzed, and not in the slightest bit tired.
I get into bed and pull the cover up to my chin, tucking myself in and wishing I could tape myself to the mattress. No chance of getting out.
For a large chunk of the night, I toss and turn, trying to ignore the heat between my legs and the porn movie in my mind. What would I even do if I went downstairs now? Draw on his face? Take photos of him with his mouth hanging open and drool running down his chin?
Something else entirely with his face?
Fucking hell, stop it!
The drawing idea is actually too good to pass up, though. I bite my lip, shove my cover away, and grab my phone. Wearing a smile that likely makes me resemble a serial killer’s mugshot, I tiptoe out of my room and head downstairs. I’ve seriously lost it, anyway. Why not have a little fun, too?
We left the dim light above the cooker on in the kitchen so that it wasn’t pitch black, but I’m still convinced I’ll walk into something and wake Casper up.
I step towards the sofa and raise my phone.
