Page 37 of Detroit

Everleigh

Oh. My. Freaking. God.

Really, that was the only thought that played over and over in my head after the orgasm fog cleared from my mind.

A part of me wanted to blame sleep.

And, to be fair, I had crawled up over him in my sleep, wanting to steal some of his warmth. I was always, always cold. Being that close to him was the warmest I’d ever felt.

I could even blame, to an extent, the steamy dream I’d been having in my sleep. A dream that had desire pulsing through my body before sleep cleared from my mind and I realized I was not only on top of him, but his hardness was pressed against me.

I mean, what the hell was wrong with me?

I’d… I’d kind of assaulted him in his sleep.

It wasn’t his fault he was having a reaction to me climbing all over him. It wasn’t intentional.

But the way I shifted down so his hardness could press against the juncture of my thighs, and then rocked against him to bring myself to an orgasm?

That was intentional.

And really, really, really wrong.

I’d been horrified with myself as I climbed off of him, then out of the room, glad that he had managed to sleep through it because that would be so hard to explain to him.

I mean, it didn’t make what I’d done anybetter.

And when I went into the hall to pull myself together, I decided that the only thing I could do was go to him, address it, and apologize for it.

Then leave town and never come back because there was no way to live that down, no chance of me ever facing him again.

I had the door open, and was a step in before I looked to the bed.

Then there he was.

With his hand down his pants, gripping and stroking himself.

For a moment, I was too surprised to move.

Then, well, I don’t know.

I was too mesmerized to.

That probably sounded so silly and juvenile of me. But the fact of the matter was, I’d never seen a man doing that before.

God, maybe I was a prude.

I guess I just figured that solo stuff was for alone time. Not to be witnessed by the other person. And my previous couple of boyfriends seemed to silently agree with that.

I owed Detroit his privacy.

He had no idea I was there. His eyes were shut tightly. Lost in some fantasy.

But I couldn’t seem to force my legs to move, to carry me out.

Desire, just sated, blazed through my body once again, making a deep ache start between my eyes as I watched his body tense, his arm pump faster, his face twist in that pained look that pleasure sometimes took on, as his ragged breathing turned to low groans and curses.

Then, as his entire body jerked hard as he came.

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