Page 40 of Endless Love

“That’s not the problem, and you know it.” His voice is a taut, husky growl, and I feel that warmth blooming through me again at the sound of it.

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor.” I push myself up. “You should get a full night’s rest, Ivan. I sit in the passenger’s side all day. I can nap if I want. You’re the one who shouldn’t be pushing yourself so hard.”

His hands are moving rhythmically over the blanket now, smoothing out the same spot again and again. “Almost sounds like you give a shit about me.”

Irritation, a different kind of heat, mixes with the warmth of my desire. “Sounds like you just get off on being difficult,” I snipe back, and Ivan looks up sharply, his dark gaze catching mine.

“Oh, that’s not what I get off on, Charlotte,” he murmurs, and the rasp of his voice makes my breath catch.

I should drop it. I shouldnotlet this man share a bed with me. If he agrees to take the bed, I should sleep on the floor. But there’s something more to this too, something I’d never admit to him—and can barely admit to myself.

I’m lonely. Night after night of him sleeping on the floor, so close and still so far away, day after day spent with him oscillating between arguments and tense silence and the occasional truce, has left me aching for a gentler human connection. It’s left me aching for exactly what he gave me earlier, when he kissed me like he cares for me. Like he’s falling for me. And that kiss made me want more. Not just sex, but closeness. Comfort.

I want him next to me in bed, because it would make me feel less alone. Just for a little while.

I let out a heavy breath. “Just get in the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want. But you need?—”

“Fine.” Ivan pushes himself up from the floor, his muscled frame even more threatening in the near-darkness. “I need to sleep, most of all. So I can’t spend the whole night arguing with you.”

I start to get up, but he shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly. “If I’m sleeping in the bed, then we both are. Don’t worry, I won’t touch you.”

The bed is a queen, so theoretically, there is enough space for us both. But it feels like so much less as I slide back down under the blankets, and feel the dip in the mattress as Ivan slides in next to me.

There’s an arm’s length between us, still. But I canfeelhis presence next to me, as if he’s touching me. My pulse feels lodged in my throat, the air between us thick with the knowledge that if he reached out, I’d feel him brush against my skin.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, I think as I lie there, listening to him breathe, feeling the heat of his body fill the space between us.I don’t think either of us is going to get any sleep like this.

—

Somehow,though, we do. I wake to thin sunlight filtering through the curtains and over the bed, and the warmth of Ivan’s body pressed against mine, his arm over my waist. His chest is rising and falling slowly against my back, his breath ruffling the small hairs on the nape of my neck, and I feel desire jolt through me like lightning when I register the stiff, hard shape of his cock pressed against my spine through his sweatpants.

I go very still, not wanting to move. I don’t want to wake him yet. I want to stay in this moment a little longer, this feeling of being held, this liminal moment where I can pretend that it’s alright that Ivan is holding me. Where I can pretend that I haven’t fully woken up yet, and I’m still unaware that the last man who I should be allowing to touch me is curled around me as if I’m his.

It feels so good. The hard, muscled press of him against me, the warmth of his skin, the masculine scent of him filling my senses. Without meaning to, I squirm back against him a little, and in a flash of movement, Ivan rolls onto me, pinning me onto my back as he nuzzles into my neck.

I freeze, my heart pounding as he breathes in, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin of my throat and making my entire body tighten. His hips are pressed to mine, his cock hard against my belly, and I can feel the pounding of his heart against mine.

I’m not entirely sure that he’s awake. He’s braced on his elbows on either side of me, breathing shallowly, his hips rocking gently as he grinds into me. That throbbing desire that keeps flooding through me at his every touch answers his, and I realize with a flush of heat that crawls up my neck that if I could spread my legs wider for him, I would.

“Charlotte—” My name is a sleepy murmur, breathed into my neck, and I can feel my resistance to him fading. I’m wet, aching for him, and with the last bit of my self-control, I reach up, shoving my hands against his chest in an effort to both wake him up fully and get him off of me.

“Getoff,” I snap, and Ivan lifts his head, the sleep vanishing from his expression as he blinks down at me.

He takes in our position, him wedged tightly against me, my legs trapped between his and his cock pressed against me. A slow, amused smirk twitches the corners of his mouth, and I glare up at him as he smiles down at me. “Why?” he asks lazily, and I start to tell him it’s none of his business. But the dark amusement in his expression tells me that he won’t be satisfied with that. That he wants to hear me tell him the truth.

After being so angry at him for all of his lies, I guess it’s the least I can do.

“If you don’t stop touching me—” The words come out whispered, choked and tight. “I’m going to ask you to fuck me again.”

Ivan draws in a sharp breath, his hips rocking into me as if what I just said struck him physically. I feel him throb against me, feel his body grinding against mine for a moment, his eyes dark with the same desperate need that I’ve felt ever since last night. It feels like torment, and there’s an odd satisfaction in knowing he feels the same.

I want to use it against him. To wield it like a weapon, brace it between us like a shield, the way I tried to do when I went down on him. To reduce this thing between us to a base, filthy need. But he won’t let me do that. I know it already, from that last time. And I can feel that what this is could too easily spin out of control.

It’s more than that, and we both know it, even if neither of us will say it out loud.

Ivan swallows hard, his throat moving as he looks down at me, his body suddenly very still against mine. “Would you believe that it was real, if I did?”

The question comes out as a hoarse rasp, but there’s a softness, a sincerity in it that cuts me to the quick. And once again, I can’t give him anything other than the truth, even when he’s lied to me so many times.

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