“Of course you want to fuck, all men want to fuck. Shit, men will fuck anything that moves, right?” Wriggling her hips, she smirks. “I'm moving, so come and get it.”
“No, no, no, why don't we maybe sit and relax? Hm? How about that? We can talk.”
Her hands slip up her sides and she cups her breasts. “Why don't you want to fuck me anymore? You used to, you used to want me.”
Wait. . . Who is she talking about? This conversation doesn’t seem to be about us.
“Why doesn't he love me anymore?” Her voice teeters and her eyes start to glaze over like she's about to cry. “Why wasn't I enough for him?” She starts to sniffle, and I expect to her burst out crying. But she doesn't, she glances around us and arches a brow. “Why is it so dark in here?”
“The power is out.” I know I already told her this, but she's under the influence and clearly things aren’t processing for her.
“And why is it so cold?” she asks, rubbing the outside of her arms.
“Let me start a fire.” I'm relieved her mind is now in the present, and that’s she’s moved on from wherever it was she’d jumped to a few minutes before.
Grabbing a few logs of wood, I crouch down next to the fireplace and arrange them. I strike the match to light some kindling, placing it strategically between the logs and blowing a bit, stoking it until the logs catch and I get a good fire going. When I turn around, she’s seated on the couch and her face is ablaze from the light of the flames, staring, as if mesmerized by the fire. Sitting down next to her, I cup my hands between my legs and give her a soft smile.
“There, that will take the chill out of the air in here. The power should be back up soon, but for now, this is what I got.”
“I'm sorry,” she says, turning to look at me.
I'm struck by her beauty. The way the flames illuminate her skin, how her green eyes flicker with gold and yellow as the fire starts to roar. Her cheeks are rosy, and her mouth is glistening as she nibbles on her bottom lip.
My dick twitches, and I have to clear my throat as I try to adjust myself without her noticing. “Don't apologize, you don't need to.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes flick back to the fire as she rubs the tops of her thighs with her open palms. “Can I ask you do something for me?”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“Can you just hold me for a little bit? I know we're not going to have sex, and that's fine, but could you do that? I just need to feel like I'm worth something again.”
Holding out my arm, I give her nod. “Come on in, that's something I can do.”
She snuggles up close, pressing her body right up against mine. My heart starts to pound with her so close. She fits perfectly into the crook of my arm, as if she was made for it.
And it feels good. It feels perfect.
Her arm drapes over my stomach as she buries her face in my chest. I can smell her hair again, and it smells so good. I'm tempted to run my fingers through her hair, to play with it, touch it, feel it slip through my fingers.
Clinging to my ribs, she pulls her knees up and closes any gaps between us. The way she wraps herself around me makes me want to protect her and keep her safe. It fills me with a sense of purpose, a sense of need and want and. . . worth.
“Hey,” I say softly, “I never got your name.” She doesn’t say anything, just makes a satisfied little hum, and I look down at her face and find her fast asleep.
Relaxing deeper into the couch, my eyes start to get heavy as I watch the fire burn. Her weight at my side feels grounding, the warmth of her body is like the most luxurious blanket. I take a minute to study her face now that her eyes are closed, and she looks as close to an angel as anyone I’ve ever seen. With a smile on my face and a warmth in my gut, I lay my head back and for the first time in ages. . .
I feel whole.
3
Laney
My eyes are heavy and dry as I try to open them. But it's fucking hard. I finally crack them a little, and they snap shut again all on their own.
There's a small beam of light that burns my pupils as I get them to stay open. The sun is casting long shadows around the room, and as I try to stretch out, I realize I'm wedged in place by a thick, heavy arm.
What the hell. . .Whose bed is this and how the hell did I end up here? My brain starts working a mile a minute. Little flashes from last night explode in my head. I drank. A lot. The creep at the bar. Standing in the freezing cold. The guy who brushed me off to eat his soup in peace. Oh. My God. Crying. So much crying.
What did I do?
Taking a couple deep breaths, I look back over my shoulder, and I see the grouchy man from the corner of the bar asleep next to me in bed. He looks different in the daylight, minus my drunk goggles and with a much clearer head.
Wow, he's sexy as hell.
His hair is tousled, the sharp lines of his jaw and chin are covered in a well-groomed beard. He's shirtless, and I can see thick, black lines painting the arm that's over my body.
The air outside this cocoon is cool, making the tip of my nose cold. But it's warm in his arms, and under these heavy blankets. I want to stay right where I am, there's a sense of comfort being engulfed by this man, even if I can’t remember his name.
Then it hits me, the intense pressure of my bladder as it screams for relief. I try to push it off by adjusting my hips a little. It doesn't work, the motion only makes my body scream louder.
I can't wait.
I gently try to lift his arm off me, and if it weren’t for the urgent need to run to the bathroom, I’d be tempted to trace my finger over every line on his skin and watch the hairs stand up as I felt his strong muscles. Slinking out from under his arm, my feet hit the cold floor as I stand up. Hugging myself, a chill runs down my body from the icy cold air. I can see my breath as I exhale.
Man it's cold in here. Rubbing my arms, trying to warm up, I shiver as I tip toe down the staircase from the loft. I definitely don’t remember walking up these stairs last night. I wander around downstairs, open a closet door, and then another, before I try a door at the end of the hallway, and luck out. A bathroom. Yes! I flip the light switch, and nothing happens.
Shit, the power is out.
Peeing in the dimly lit room, I take the chance to look myself over in the small mirror above the sink. I don't look half bad considering the heavy drinking, and the onslaught of tears that embarrassingly took over last night.
This guy must think I'm an emotional mess.
Cleaning the black smudges off my cheeks from my mascara, I use the mouthwash he has on the sink counter. My head actually feels pretty good despite all the whiskey I consumed.
Cheese trick wins again!
Smiling to myself, my gaze shifts to the window. It's not a typical window, it's round, with swooping iron frames that hold a mosaic of glass. There's bright greens and blues, yellows and reds.
It’s gorgeous.
Reaching out, I run the tips of my fingers over the glass, unable to stop myself from touching it. It's beautiful; so intricate. Checking out the rest of the bathroom, I'm blown away by the detail in the woodwork. It's everywhere. Intricate swirls and shapes all burned into the surface of the cabinets.