Instead, Calder carefully peels back my sheets and helps me slide beneath the covers.
“You’re staying, aren’t you?” I ask as he tucks the comforter around me. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
His hands pause. “I might say the same of you right now.”
It’s the first time tonight that I’ve heard even a hint of amusement in his voice. It gives me hope.
“Stay,” I tell him. When he doesn’t answer immediately, I add, “Are you going to make me beg?”
He lets out a small chuckle. “Maybe. I think I’d like that, hearing you beg me.”
He reaches up and brushes my hair away from my face. There’s a smile in his eyes now, but it doesn’t completely eclipse whatever other dark emotions dwell just beneath his surface. Still, he doesn’t make any more arguments. He pulls back the sheets and climbs in beside me.
I shift toward him. He turns off the lamp, plunging us into darkness, and then he lies back on the pillow with a sigh. I don’t dare move closer, not when I can’t gauge his true emotions. After a few minutes, though, he reaches out and wraps his arm around me, pulling me against him, my back flush against his warm chest. His body curls around mine, and his mouth is by my ear. I can feel his breath in my hair. His heartbeat thrums steadily against my spine.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” I repeat, even as my fatigue threatens to pull me under. I’m fading fast, now that I’m lying down. The shock of the shower has dulled completely, and I’m left with sheer exhaustion.
Calder finds my hand, threads his fingers through mine.
I’m asleep before I hear his reply.
* * *
I wake sometime in the night. The room is still pitch black, and it takes me a moment to recognize the source of the heat wrapped around me. When I do—when I remember that Calder is here and recall the circumstances of his arrival—the emotions hit me in waves: my initial pleasure at his nearness is followed quickly by shame and utter disgust with myself.
I’m an idiot.
I acted like some sort of bratty, immature teenager. And for what? There’s no way this evening fixed anything between me and Calder. And it certainly didn’t make things any easier for him. I’d be shocked if it didn’t make things worse.
But maybe I’m sobering up a little because the reasonable part of my mind seems to be regaining some traction.
So you had a few too many drinks, it reminds me. So what? Yeah, so you drunk-texted your ex. You got sick all over the bathroom. You’re not the first person to get sloshed and stupid, and you won’t be the last. Tomorrow you’ll get up, pop a couple more aspirin, and laugh it off.
Easier said than done, of course.
I roll over so that I’m face to face with Calder. The movement makes my head spin, but I ignore the throbbing in my temples. I want to look at him.
I’ve never just slept with him—literally slept, I mean. Once, back at his estate, we spent the night in his bed, but we didn’t really do much sleeping. Somehow, this feels more intimate.
He’s beautiful when he sleeps. There’s just enough moonlight peeking in around the curtain for me to make out his features—his strong jaw, his square chin, his straight nose. He looks peaceful, but even in his slumber there’s still tension around his mouth. I reach out and touch him gently at the corner where his lips meet, wishing I could just mase grinds against meHe stirs, making a small sound. Without waking, he draws me closer, holds me against his chest. It’s too hot, and I can hardly breathe, but I don’t care. I press my lips against his heated skin, turn my face so my ear is right over his heart. His dusting of chest hair tickles my cheek, but I reach my arm around him and hold myself there. My fingers trace his spine, and I allow myself to breathe him in.
After a time, he moves again. He’s no longer asleep, I realize suddenly, but I have no idea when he woke. He reaches up and threads his fingers through my hair. I didn’t brush it after the shower, so it’s probably full of tangles, but he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t say anything. He just strokes my hair, again and again, until I fall back to sleep.
* * *
The next time I wake, it’s dawn.
The gray light is leaking in through the window, and somewhere in the distance birds have started chirping.
I scrabble in the dark for my phone, and when I find it I hit a random button to bring it to life. The light from the screen sends a spear of pain through my head, but I manage to read the time. It’s only 6:32 AM.
I snuggle back against Calder, and he mumbles something in his sleep. I smile. I could get used to this, waking up in his arms.
But I’m only teasing myself. This is an illusion. When he wakes up, when he remembers the events of yesterday, he’ll walk right out of my door again. I don’t blame him. He told me he needed time, and what did I do? I got drunk and texted him.
He’s still breathing steadily, deep in sleep, but a certain part of his anatomy is already awake. His hard length presses against the curve of my ass, and heat pools between my legs. I want to press back against him, to shift slightly so that his cock slips down to where my thighs meet. It would be so easy, if he were awake, for him to take me. For him to grab me and bury himself inside of me. I need him. I need him, and he needs me, whether he wants to admit it or not.
I’m throbbing between my legs now, and I know that I’ll go crazy if I don’t do something. I try to wiggle out of his grip, move away from his warm, tempting body, but the movement wakes him. I hear his breath hitch as he snaps out of sleep.
For a moment we both lie there, perfectly still. I wait for him to remember why he’s here, to remember what happened last night. The moment he does, he’ll pull away and climb out of bed. There’s no reason for him to stay.
But he doesn’t move away. He keeps his arm around me, even closes the distance between us again. His hard length is pressed against me once more, and by the way his heartbeat quickens against my back, I know he’s just as turned on as I am.
As long as we stay like this, locked together, we can pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. We don’t have to talk about last night or last week or anything that came before. We don’t have to talk about anything at all. If we just remain like this, we can let our bodies pretend that everything is perfect between us.
But I don’t want to just lie here. I want more.
I press back against his body, against his arousal. He sucks in a breath and his grip tightens on my waist. I take that as an encouraging sign. I might not be able to fix everything between us, but at the very least, I can make up for my idiocy last night.