Page 33 of Caught from Behind

Not fixing.

Not problem solving.

Except, those things are exactly what I do outside of horizontal naked time, aren’t they?

The thought is the only thing that settles my pulse, that keeps me in Riggs’s arms, that doesn’t send me running from this moment in terror.

This is just a new thing to fix.

It doesn’t mean I’ll let him get close enough to hurt me when he leaves.

Calmed by that thought, I inhale, slow and steady, my exhale just as slow, just as steady.

And then…I allow the blackness to take me under.

But even in my dreams, I know Riggs is holding me closely.

An arm tightening around my middle wakes me.

Or maybe it’s the alarm, I realize, my eyelids slowly peeling open.

I grunt against the bright sunshine pouring in through the windows, reach for the blanket and yank it over my head.

But the damn alarm won’t shut up.

Buzz-buzz. Buzz-buzz. Buzz-buzz.

I can’t stand loud beeps jerking me out of sleep—rest to utter wakefulness in a flash—but this is almost as bad.

Okay, anything waking me up is bad.

Because I love to sleep, and I hate to wake up, and?—

The arm tightens for another second then loosens and I lose the heat of Riggs—because as grumpy as I am to wake up, there’s absolutely no doubt to whom that strong, muscled arm belongs.

I scowl into my pillow, but that scowl smooths out when the buzzing stops.

And then Riggs is back, his arm returning around my middle, his lips at my ear. “You need to get out of here very soon?”

I grunt.

A soft chuckle. “What?”

“Why are you talking so loud?” I hiss.

“I’m whispering.”

I grunt again, yank the blanket closer.

And annoyingly, he just chuckles again.

“What?” I grumble.

“You’re not a morning person,” he whispers—because yes, he is whispering. “I didn’t expect that.”

I just grunt again, burrow into my pillows. “Shh.”

To my grumpy relief, he doesn’t keep talking.

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