Page 67 of Unleashed

Afterward, I slumped against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my cheek. He held me close, his arms wrapping around me with a tenderness that made me ache inside.

“That was so good. I missed you,” he murmured, his voice soft and sincere.

“I missed you too, Slade,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

“Can I stay over tonight?” he asked, his tone hopeful. “I could make you breakfast.”

A pang of guilt struck me. I couldn’t tell him about brunch with Michael without hurting his feelings, so I opted for a lie. “I’m having brunch with Erika.”

“Oh.” His disappointment was palpable. “Can I still stay over?”

“If you like,” I said, though my heart wasn’t in it.

“Morgan, you can say no. I just like feeling you in my arms,” he said softly.

“You have to leave early,” I said, my voice wavering.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I can do that.”

“Want to get ready for bed?” I asked, trying to shift the focus.

“I think we should clean up first,” he suggested, his tone practical but still laced with lingering desire.

I lay in bed,staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the guilt gnawing at me as Slade slept soundly beside me. His warm breath against my neck was a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. I was torn between my lingering feelings for Slade and the budding connection with Michael. As the minutes ticked by, I grew increasingly restless, my thoughts racing.

When the clock approached 9 a.m., my frustration bubbled to the surface. Winston was set to arrive by eleven, and I still hadn’t decided what to wear. I sighed heavily and turned to Slade, who was still draped over me, his hips occasionally nudging my back as he shifted in his sleep.

“You have to go,” I said softly, trying not to disturb him too much.

Slade stirred, his groggy voice filled with reluctance. “Are you sure?” His hand pressed against my back, his arousal unmistakable.

“Positive,” I replied firmly, though my heart felt heavy.

He grumbled softly, “Maybe you could sleep over at my place tonight.”

“I can’t,” I said, rolling away from him to sit up. “I have work tomorrow and so do you.”

“Morgan, did I do something wrong?” he asked, sitting up and pulling away from me, his face etched with concern.

“No,” I said quickly. “I just need to be sharp for work.”

He slid out of bed, grabbing his shorts and pulling them on with a frustrated huff. “I just feel a distance from you that wasn’t there last weekend.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice tinged with regret. “I don’t want to hurt you. You know I have a lot going on.”

“So, what does that mean?” he pressed, his tone a mix of confusion and hurt.

“It means I might not be available all the time,” I explained, trying to be gentle.

“I’m not asking for all the time,” he said, his voice dropping. “I’m asking for a little. I want to cultivate a relationship with you.” He ran his hands through his disheveled hair in frustration.

“I know, but I can’t give you much right now,” I said, trying to soothe him. “Maybe we can have dinner or drinks during the week.”

“That’s all I get?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “One night this week?”

“What do you want from me, Slade?” I shot back, unable to hide my frustration.

“I guess I’m asking for too much,” he said bitterly. “Excuse me.”

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