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“I’m not wearing another man’s fucking—”
I cut him off before he tries to strangle me with them. “They’re mine. I bought them to sleep in. Use them or don’t, but that’s all I have that will fit you until I can get you some things tomorrow.”
“Fine.” He turns and heads to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
“Fine,” I mock before slipping my panties on.
I catch sight of the tip of my tattoo before it’s hidden beneath my underwear. I pull the soft black T-shirt over my head as I hear the shower turn on in the next room. Running a comb through my hair, I sigh—what I wouldn't give for a blowout right now. But I have more important things to do than worry about my hair.
Tossing the bag aside for now, I make my way over to the bed and pull back the comforter. I climb in and cover myself, burrowing into the warmth. I was okay before, but after the shower and with my hair still damp, I can feel the chill of the air conditioning now.
I listen to the sound of Calix in the shower as I begin to relax. By the time he comes out, I’m barely conscious. He moves around the room, doing who knows what, before he climbs into bed beside me. He mutters something about twenty years, but I’m asleep before I can process it.
* * *
When a nightmare takeshold of me a couple of hours later, I bolt upright in bed and scan the dimly lit room, looking for… It’s empty, apart from Calix and me. I turn to look down at the man and jolt when I find his tired eyes staring back at me.
“Bad dream?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
I lie back down and struggle to get my breathing under control, wondering if I should just get up. It’s always hard to go back to sleep after one of those nightmares. It’s as if a specter from the dream world has followed me into consciousness, leaving me feeling sick and wary. I roll to my side and stare at the window. From this angle, I can just make out the pink glow of the neon sign for the laundromat across the street.
I feel Calix move as he slides closer, and then I feel his arm around my waist, pulling me into his warmth.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Keeping you safe from the bogeyman. Now go to sleep.”
I’m tense. I know it, and he knows it, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he strokes a spot on my stomach with his pinky finger until the repetitiveness of the movement has me relaxing, and I drift off.
When I wake again, it’s to find Calix on his back with me sprawled across his chest and a rather large problem wedged between us.
It’s early, way too early, but I know there is no chance of me falling back to sleep now. I slept more last night than I have in the last two weeks. Generally, I don’t need that much sleep to survive, but everyone has their breaking point. Mine must have been last night, finding solace in a six-foot-four stranger taking care of me.
I carefully try to extract myself from Calix when his large hands grip my hips, holding me in place. I freeze for a second, unsure if it was intentional, but then I feel his dick harden between us, and I realize I’m not the only light sleeper. Trying to get off him has clearly woken him up.
Unsure of the man beneath me, I ready myself, waiting to see what his next move will be. But all he does is hold my hips, stopping me from climbing off him. I’ll admit, I’m pretty fucking comfortable here. If he wants me to stay where I am, I’m more than happy to. It’s just hard to ignore the voice in the back of my head. With a sigh, I give in and bury my head against the crook of his neck, my lips barely a millimeter away from his throat.
As my breath skates over his skin, he tightens his hold on me and starts to rock me against him. My breath hitches in my throat as the hard column of his cock rubs against my clit. He pauses for a second. When I don’t freak out, he does it again.
My hands slide to his shoulders, my fingers digging into his skin as he guides my hips up and down his cock. My mouth presses against the skin of his neck, eliciting a groan from him.
One of his calloused hands slips under my T-shirt and glides up my bare back, holding me tighter. His hips start moving against mine again as he gets caught up in the moment. Our movements become more frenzied now as we grind against each other, the friction of our clothing only adding to my pleasure.
I place kisses against his throat before lifting my head. I stare into his blazing eyes before slowly lowering my mouth to his.
He opens for me with zero hesitation, his hand quickly moving from my back to my head. He holds me in place while he devours me. He kisses me like a man who has been starved of human contact for twenty years.
My body reacts to his in a way that surprises me. The heat coils around us like a snake, constricting my breathing and infecting my brain with a venom that eats away at my hatred for this man because of who his brother is. It’s as I feel my orgasm rushing toward me with the speed and finesse of a runaway train that I come to the terrifying realization that I might actually like the man I married. Given how our marriage was doomed to fail before it even started, this revelation leaves me feeling sad and lonely. We haven’t even started, and I’m already mourning, not so much for the heartbreak I know is to come but for the loss of what we could have been to each other in another life—if we weren’t who we are.
He shudders against me, his lips pulling from mine only so he can whisper against them.
“Angel.”
It comes out as a warning and a curse. I interpret it as a green light to come, and I do, silently screaming as my nails dig into his skin and I flood my panties. I feel him freeze as he comes too, his grip painfully tight as he holds me against him.
I rest my forehead against his as we catch our breath. My hair falls around us, shielding us from the world. For one blissful moment, I’m just a girl, and he’s just a boy, and there is just pleasure and potential between us instead of pain and suffering.
