Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Um… so…” And now I know why his lips seem darker, because he bites on them again. “That’s unreasonable. The bed is big.” Eli points to the king-size bed I’m lying next to.
By any person’s standards, he’s correct. No need for me to take the floor, as if I’m a dog guarding its master, but when I glance up at him and imagine how fresh his damp hair must smell after the shower, it feels like too much of a risk. I’ve missed last Friday’s fun due to a bad cold, so my self-control might not be as tight as it usually is, and I don’t want to creep him out.
Spending the night on the couch would have been a solution, but at thirty-three I know myself enough to realize I wouldn’t be able to doze off in another room when Eli could be in danger.
So here we are.
The intense thunder above us isn’t helping me be reasonable.
“Don’t worry. You need the rest more than I do.”
He walks in, taking unsure steps toward the bed. He’s barefoot. I should have given him socks too. He has no idea how precious he is to me. For as long as I remember, I’ve been under another man’s heel, and as Sullivan’s killer, Eli is the obvious choice for me. I need to adjust to being around someone who isn’t here to command me but needs protection and guidance himself.
“I don’t have lice, you know,” he jokes, but wraps his arms around himself and sits on the bed. I can’t read him right now.
I lick my lips, sitting up with the blanket around me. He’s close now, and I can’t help but react to the scent of his damp body. “You deserve a comfortable bed.”
“We’ll be fine. Look how big this bed is. The comforter too.” Eli crawls toward the headboard to pull on the bedding he was sitting on. He might be skinny, but I get a view of his rounded ass in the pajama pants. He glances back at me, and some hair flops over his eyes. “Or is it me? I could take the blanket, you the comforter, so we don’t pull on it? Or swap tomorrow?” he’s starting to babble again, and I can’t help but find it endearing. Most of the men I worked with were curt. Especially with me. But he’s so genuine, unsure, fragile from malnutrition and struggle.
I rise to my knees and grab his hand, leaning close. It’s only now that the aroma of his skin and hair hits me with full force. He’s earthy yet fresh, like a dewy clearing deep in the woods. Like moss, and wild berries, and sun on my skin.
But I don’t want to lie and enjoy the comfort of his fragrance. I wish to roll over and bury myself in him, rocking my body until lightning descends on us, and we both stir, as close to heaven as a living person can get.
I let the blanket fall and spread my knees so he can see why I’d rather keep a degree of separation. I’m ready for him to recoil, but it is what it is, and he needs to know, whatever the outcome.
His eyes widen, face flushes, but he doesn’t pull his hand out of mine. I’m not yet sure what to make of it, but he speaks. “Oh. I… Do you need a minute?” His eyes travel from between my legs and up to my face. “Or is this for me?”
I should lie.
I should deny it and leave to take care of my problem, but what is the point of that? If I’m to be around him all the time, this is bound to happen again, and we need a system based on honesty.
So I nod, clearing my throat. “I didn’t want to make this awkward.”
With Eli for once rendered silent, I get up, because while he needs to know, it’s not like he’s expected to do something about it.
The next lightning strike hits so close to the cabin, my ears ring. My heart goes frantic, and I act on instinct. I fall forward and cover Eli with my body in panic. If the roof falls down on us, at least I’ll be on top. I hate storms. I fucking hate them.
“Um… it’s okay,” he whispers after a moment and strokes my side.
Is he… trying to comfort me? I realize with embarrassment that he must sense how tense I am, how fast my heart is beating. How useless. I’m supposed to be his protector. Someone who will keep him out of harm’s way until he’s somewhere safe.
And yet, it’s so nice. I don’t remember ever being comforted. Sure, I’ve fucked my way through lots of guys, and that’s meant occasional cuddles before or after sex, but this feels different. Like he cares. Like he’s not put off by my weakness.