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The heavy weight draped over my torso is going to make that particular escape a little difficult. So is the half-chub rubbing against my ass, which—hello—seems like it’d be a shame to waste.
Seeing as my prior accidental sleepovers were more of a pass out cold situation than a deliberate plan to stay the night, they didn’t involve cuddling. Or waking up to someone’s morning wood knocking on my back door. My jury’s still out on the cuddling part—although I slept like a fucking baby—but I could get on board with the wake-up sex.
No, bad Tripp.
Though I’m happy to confirm the gentle giant behind me is a beast in the sack, I’m not sold on the declaration that he’s good with no strings sex. I think he’d like to be—I’d like that too—which is why I followed him home last night. But slip ups like staying over might send the wrong message. So, I need to Houdini myself out of here.
Wrapping my fingers gently around his wrist, I try to lift his arm off me. I move it maybe half an inch before my hand slips and Noah hugs me tighter to his chest. I’m ready to try again when he grumbles, “Trying to sneak out?”
“I don’t sneak.” I totally sneak. “I was trying to be polite and not wake you.”
“You didn’t.”
“So, you’re intentionally spooning me?” That not so subtle hint doesn’t get him to move his arm.
“I woke up like this. Figured as long as we were both comfortable, I’d stay that way.”
Houston we have a problem. Snuggles could lead to feelings, and that's a slippery slope to boyfriendvile. It's a town I have no desire to visit like ever. Why subject myself to the illusion that people give a shit about me when history suggests they only care about themselves?
I scoot away and roll to face him, regretting it the moment I do. Sleepy, rumpled Norse god is HOT! “So, how did we end up here exactly?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. I remember trying to catch my breath, and I think maybe my legs gave out and I fell on the bed.”
“Hmm, sign of a good night. You’re welcome.” I pat his deliciously hard chest. “Okay then, I should go.”
He tugs on the jersey I’m still wearing when I try to sit up. “What’s the rush?”
“Um, the rush is you're spooning me. That’s against the fuck buddy rules.”
“It’s not like I broke the rules on purpose. Or by myself.” He runs a lazy hand through his hair, a loose strand falling back over his face, and my stomach does a little flip.
“Exactly. I broke them too, which is why I should go.”
“It’s Sunday and you don’t have work.” He scratches his big hand over his perfectly sculpted pec, which makes me notice his chest again, then his abs, then the heavy cock resting on them, and damn I need to get away from naked Thor. “Shower and I’ll make some breakfast. Then you can take Dorothy over to Xander’s if you want.”
He remembers the name of my most prized possession? And doesn’t think it’s weird that I named her?
I’d swoon if I did that sort of thing. Or climb on him and ride like I was making for the border.
Down, boy. Morning after sex is definitely not a fuck buddy thing. Neither is breakfast, although I am kind of starving and I’d love to skate. “Can you cook breakfast as well as you cook dinner?”
“I can fry an egg.”
“I guess I’ll take you up on that shower then.”
Noah gets me set up in the bathroom and heads off to the kitchen, leaving me the privacy to clean up without an audience, or a partner. That’s somewhat disappointing considering his shower would be fun to play in. It’s got a bazillion jets and showerheads, and even a little bench that looks like marble in a sea of tiles that resemble wood planks—very masculine and contemporary. Although shower sex is possibly too intimate for what we are, so getting clean solo is probably for the best.
I linger slightly since I haven’t been in a shower this nice in nearly a decade. Wrapping myself in a plush white towel, I hunt down some mouthwash, finding it in the medicine cabinet above the sink, but when I finish and close the mirrored door I freeze.
What am I doing?
My image stares back at me, familiar yet not. Running my fingers through my damp hair, the emerald tips taunt me with a truth I don’t want to admit.
I picked green because I thought he'd like it.
Like he said, the darker color does make me look less playful and more mischievous. Both are accurate representations of my personality, although I went blond as a way to remind myself to focus on the light. To appear approachable rather than inaccessible, at least on the surface. I may have sky-high walls, but I only put them up around the deep, personal stuff I keep to myself. I don’t use them to push people away on sight–my obnoxious comments do that so I don’t waste time on people who can’t handle me–and dark always struck me as the equivalent of saying back off without having to say anything at all.
I also thought the darkness of the green might warn him away.
