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"No. I couldn't sleep."
"Cara's not home?"
I shake my head and he tugs me further into his arms. I wrap mine around his back. We're hugging, and it's the best feeling in the world. I thought Cara's hugs were wonderful, but Nicks? Maybe even better.
"What do you need, Bree? If it's in my power, I'll give it to you."
"Will you sleep with me?"
His body goes rigid, and I realize how the words sound. I should probably clarify, but I don't. He knows exactly what I need from him, I'm sure of it.
"Bree...maybe—“
"You said anything," I remind him. He studies me carefully. I see it cross his face, the moment he gives in.
"Okay. Si. Um...where do you want to go? Back to your place?"
"And risk Cara finding you in my bed? She will cut off your dick."
Nick shudders. "Right," he squeaks. "That's bad. We're not doing that. So...the couch?"
I pull out of his arms regretfully. This was a colossal mistake. He doesn't want me in his room. He doesn't want to do this at all, and I'm making him another crutch, and unwilling one at that. "It's okay," I say quietly, backing to the door. "I'll figure something out. I shouldn't have come here."
I run into the door, my hand fumbling for the knob, when he surges forward, pressing into me. "And go to who Bree?" I'm still processing the 'who', honestly confused who's door he thinks I'm going to knock on next, when I'm up in his arms in a bear hug, feet dangling, arms pinned at my sides. Now's the moment I should be panicking, but I can't because Nick is grumpy and muttering to himself under his breath as he walks, and I'm riveted.
"Walking around the building in her damned tiny pajamas, with no fucking shoes on her feet. Loca. No fucking way she's leaving my sight tonight."
My pajamas aren't that tiny. Old shorts and a tank top. But he does have a point. My feet are freezing. He's clearly not in the mood to be fucked with, but oh my god, I want to. I already feel a million times better, which is weird, considering a man is bodily carrying me to his bedroom. Would it be wrong of me to wrap my legs around him and settle in for the ride?
Yeah, that's probably not one of my better ideas.
But it's really damned tempting. And isn't that just all kinds of shocking?
He sets me down next to his bed in his dark bedroom. The curtains are open, letting moonlight stream in, illuminating his very big bed, with dark sheets and a very mussed black duvet. Was he restless? Was he dreaming? Maybe he got too hot.
Honestly, it is a little warm in here.
"Get in my bed, Bree," he orders, the words a low growl that sends a shiver down my back. For just a second, I wish I were a different woman, or a woman without scars. Because that other version of me would give almost anything to hear Nick order me into his bed like that. Hell, this version of me isn't mad about it, but I know I'll never act on the urges running through me. I'm not going to slide off my clothes, crawl slowly into his bed, then lay back and invite him in.
But oh my god, my body wants to. I blink back tears at the realization that Tyler didn't annihilate me. I'm still here, fighting my way back. Every part of me.
Nick's thumb brushes along my cheek, capturing the wetness there. His voice is low and pained. "Bree...please, stop. You're killing me. Tell me what you need. Please?"
On instinct, I cup his hand and press a kiss against his thumb. His breath shudders in his chest and his eyes widen. "I'm okay, I promise. I just need sleep." All my boldness used up, I turn away and climb into his bed. And yes, maybe I go a little slower than I need to. And yes, maybe I make sure he gets a good view of my ass. But that's all this is. A little teasing. Because while I may have just realized I want Nick badly, I also know I'm not ready for it yet.
I'm not ready for him.
But I will be, I promise myself. Soon.
I snuggle into a pillow on my side, and look back at him. He's standing motionless at the side of the bed. I don't say a word, instead letting myself take him in, cataloging all the details I was too panicked to catch before. The bare chest, sprinkled with hair on his pecs, tapering down to a fine line. The wide, strong shoulders leading to roped, powerful arms. And his hands? Those wide, capable hands currently balled into tight fists. He's holding himself back for me. He's fighting his instincts. He wants me.
I thought he might, right there in the middle of John's kitchen tonight. The way he looked at me was so clear. Nick wants to be more than my friend. I don't know if he wants more than sex. I'm not ready to know. But the man wants me. And I'm not above a little teasing.
I smooth my hand over the black sheets in front of me, then slowly pat the pillow, the one with the indent from his head. "Come to bed Nick. It's cold."
A muffled groan, a heavy exhale, and he's moving. The comforter is unbunched, then it's airborne, falling softly over me. Then he's standing at the side of the bed, staring at me. I can't see his face, but I feel his gaze, his intensity.
"Come to bed," I urge him again. Those big hands curl into fists again, then release. In one motion, he pulls back the blanket, and slides in. He punches his arms out of the blankets toward the headboard, then drops them on top of the blanket on either side of his body, pressing the blanket down and effectively creating a barrier between our bodies.
