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Asmall voice from the far side of the room catches my attention. “Hey,” Dream says, poking her head out of the bathroom.
I look over to her, and I’m nearly stunned by how pretty she looks with her hair all wet and dark like that. She has the towel I brought wrapped around her body, and it’s only just long enough to cover the parts of her she’d rather die than show me.
That’s a shame. I should’ve cut it in half before we came here.
“What’s up?” I ask, sitting up under the thin white bedsheets to get a better look at her.
“Um, this is going to sound dumb, but I didn’t bring any clothes with me. Do you have something I can borrow?”
“Like what?” I ask, unable to hide a smile as it creeps onto my face.
“Stop smiling. I just want some pajamas or something.”
“Sorry. Don’t have any.”
She frowns. “Then what are you wearing?”
“Nothing.”
She runs the palm of her hand across her forehead and groans. “I’m not sleeping in the bed with you if you’re going to be naked. At leastoneof us has to wear something.”
“You’re welcome to wear one of my shirts,” I say, leaning in a bit further to get a better look at her.
Jesus, she’s so beautiful, and I doubt she even realizes it. I’d do anything to see what’s under that towel, to have her lay down in bed with me and allow me to take my time exploring every inch of her body.
“Okay, give me a shirt,” she says, waiting at the door.
“You want me to get out of bed and get it for you?” I ask, moving the cover away from my body until she can see my bare leg.
“No, stop that. I’ll get it. I’m assuming it’s in your bag,” she says, charging into the room with a firm grip on her towel.
I watch her closely as she squats down in front of my bag, trying to prevent me from seeing her ass. I’m curious if it’s still red from the spanking, still sensitive to the touch. I almost want to jump out of bed and give it another whack, but I think she might actually kill me if I did that. There’s a gun in my bag, so it’s not outside the realm of possibilities.
She stands up, holding a plain white button-down shirt in one hand and gripping her towel like it’s about to fall off her body with the other. “I’ll wear this one,” she says softly.
“You’re welcome to it.”
She lingers next to the bag for a moment, as though she’s not sure what to do, and then she goes back into the bathroom to get ready for bed.
I ease back into my lumpy pillow and stare at the ceiling, making shapes in my imagination from the irregular texture of the paint and trying to keep my mind off the things that bother me. I know we’re safe here, but every creak and groan from the old building makes me want to jump out of bed and face some invisible threat. I’ve never been this anxious, though I know how to hide it to maintain the illusion of total control.
In reality, nothing is completely in a man’s control. Sometimes, a woman throws him off and ruins everything for him.
A woman like Dream.
As much as I secretly adore her, I’m still concerned by how distracting she is. That could get me in trouble, and I know better than to fall for someone who enjoys playing games and undermining me. I’ve experienced it all before, and I’d be a fool to let it happen again.
Jasha sometimes calls me crazy because of my inability to commit to a woman for longer than one night, but he’s the same way. We’ve lived our lives in parallel since birth. We both came into this world poor and desperate, we both worked our asses off to become rich, and then we both got stabbed in the back by women who only wanted to use us for money.
Now, emotionally damaged and unwilling to seek help for it, neither of us can settle.
Dream is as her name implies – just a dream. She can never be the women I stay with forever, because that woman doesn’t exist. I know better than to even consider that I could be wrong, and I won’t let fleeting curiosity and attraction cloud my judgment.
I’m sure once she gets Eddy back, she’s not going to want to have anything to do with criminals like me anymore, anyway. She’s already sick of the Cartel, and I’m sure she’ll be sick of the Bratva once we’re done here.
I’ve almost convinced myself that I hate her when she walks back into the room wearing nothing but my shirt and nearly causes me to fall out of bed. “Make some room in there,” she says, walking over to the light switch.
I’m stunned into inaction, my eyes drawn to her pale, silky legs, following them up to her thighs. The length of my shirt on her body teases me with what it refuses to reveal. The fabric is thin and loose, and if it were pressed against her body, it would reveal everything.
