Never knew spreading condiments on bread could feel sexual, yet here I am experiencing spontaneous ovulation because of naked sandwich making.
It’s making me hungry. But not the food kind. So I stifle a groan and drop back down. Horniness wars with my guilt for drooling over him while he thinks he’s alone. It’s an invasion of his privacy, but my brain cells packed up and left town the minute I got that side shot of him.
I listen to the sounds of him putting everything away. Shutting the fridge. Footsteps leaving the open living space. I might finally be able to breathe again.
But not before his voice cuts through the silent house. “Sugar, there’s a spare bedroom upstairs on the left.”
I have never wanted to keel over and die as badly as I do right now.
Of course, he’d figure out I was here. He probably heard me breathing.
I’m startled enough that I shoot up and watch him walk away, round ass bunching with every step.
“And if you want to see me up close, just knock on the door across the hall and ask.”
And I officially want to die even more than I did a few seconds ago.
I’m embarrassed enough that I skip the guest bedroom and lie on the couch, silently berating myself until I finally fall asleep.
“Hey! Hey!”
Beau’s shouts have me shooting up off the couch. I frantically look around myself, trying to figure out what might be wrong. But the entire house is as he left it when he waltzed out of here on full display.
“Hey!”
I realize he isn’t anywhere close. He’s just shouting at the top of his lungs. In my dopey daze, my first thought was an intruder, but the more my head clears, the more I think an intruder wouldn’t start out on the second floor.
I get up and rush across the smooth stone floors, almost chilled by their coolness. Or by the sound of Beau calling out, “Hey!”
Over and over again.
It starts off loud but becomes more distraught, more defeated the longer it goes on.
I don’t knock on his bedroom door. I push right through to find his large, naked body thrashing on the king-sized bed across the room. The digital clock in the corner shows 2:11 a.m.
The pained moans spilling from his lips make my stomach drop.
He’s having a nightmare. A painful, stressful, frantic nightmare. And I have no idea what to do.
The feeling of helplessness pricks at my eyes as I watch him struggling against thin air, reliving some sort of horror.
And my heart can’t take it.
I might get knocked across the room by a stray limb, but I don’t care.
I approach his bed, calmly chanting, “Beau. Beau. Beau.” I reach out with caution and touch his shoulder. He stills almost instantly but doesn’t wake. “Hey, Beau. I’m here.”
“You’re here.” His voice cracks and he reaches for me. His clammy palm clamps around my arm.
“Yeah. It’s Bailey. I’m here. You’re okay.”
“You’re here,” he says again. This time, his tone bleeds relief. This time, he tugs me toward him.
And I go. I don’t have it in me to resist him right now. As I climb on his bed, my chest aches from his expression—pinched forehead, eyes squeezed shut, and no trace of the humor that painted his handsome features mere hours ago.
With one hand on my arm and one at my waist, he drags me to him, gathering me against his chest.
And very naked body.
But this isn’t sexual.
I’m not sure he recognizes who I am right now, but he holds me like I’m a comfort to him. He holds me like I held my sadly departed stuffed horse.
His thick arms wrap around me as I sprawl over him, head tucked under his chin, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.
I can feel the bulge of his cock, firm but not hard, against my inner thigh where my shorts have ridden up.
I can feel his chest hair against my bare breasts where my flimsy crop top has been displaced.
I can feel his deep breaths, his lungs filling and emptying, making me rise and fall in time as though I’m riding a wave while he catches his breath.
“What time is it, Bailey?” His voice is all gravel, his hold not loosening.
I peek over my shoulder at the clock. “Two twelve.”
One of his palms slides up the column of my spine to cup the back of my head. “Good.”
Then I feel him kiss my hair.
17
Beau
I shouldn’t have dragged her into my arms. Not when we’re here, alone, in the dark.
Not when I’m unraveled the way I am right now.
Not when I can’t blame it on being for show.