Page 21 of Rose and the Grouch Next Door

"Thank you," I whisper, feeling a lump form in my throat. "For taking care of me. For staying."

"Always," he replies, and there's a promise in his tone.

"Even though I called you 'Professor Hot-Stuff'?" The memory surfaces, and a blush flames across my cheeks. "I think I said some things…"

"Hey," he interrupts gently, setting the now empty bowl aside. "Fever talk is free from prosecution. Besides," a playful glint sparkles in his eyes, "I didn't mind the compliments."

"Rest up," He says as he tucks me in once again. "There’s more soup and embarrassing confessions whenever you’re ready."

"Then I'll rest up quick," I murmur, already succumbing to the pull of sleep. "Don't want to miss any of those."

"Sleep, Rose," he whispers.

"Okay, professor," I tease, a smile lingering as I drift off.

Chapter Sixteen

Rose

The heat of a body pressed against mine sends shivers of anticipation down my spine. Fingers trace the arch of my back, creating currents of desire running straight to my core. Lips, soft and insistent, explore my neck, grazing the delicate shell of my ear, coaxing out breathy moans that echo off the walls of the dimly lit room.

"More," I breathe, lost in the sensation, the desire, the need. Eyes still closed, I feel a firm hand grasp my chin to capture my mouth in a kiss that's hungry and demanding a response. The world narrows down to points of contact: the press of lips, the stroke of our tongues, the graze of teeth. My free hand, the other cushioning my head, reaches behind me to stroke his silky hair, tugging in my desperation to have more of him.

His hand is exploring, and I’m conscious of where his warm flesh touches mine, skin tingling in its wake. Fingertips scorch a path down my abdomen, grasping my hip bone in an unyielding grip.

I feel a long, muscular leg insert itself between mine, the dusting of hair rough against my skin. He pushes his leg upward, applying enough pressure on my clit that I begin to rub shamelessly, pressing against him. Seeking more, riding his thigh in an attempt to ease the tension building within and find a release.

Leaving my hip, his hand slides over my bare mound to find my sensitive bundle of nerves and begins to gently stroke small circles, his thigh continuing to apply pressure to my now drenched pussy. His tongue is still tangled with mine, and I’m matching his urgency with my own need. I desperately need to be filled, need him inside me. The fingers on my clit glide through my wetness before plunging into my heat, which is slick and swollen with need.

I arch into the touch, desperate for more, spiraling towards that peak.

"Yes, yes please, Braxton," I chant, urging him on, my vision blurring with the intensity of it all. Every nerve ending poised on the brink of shattering when I jerk awake, gasping. My core is throbbing with need and my heartbeat is beating out of my chest, but the room is silent. No heavy breathing, no warm body entwined with mine. Just the quiet snore of Honeybun at the foot of my bed and my hand down my panties.

Reality crashes over me in disappointment. I'm alone, lying in a tangle of sheets that are too empty. Trying to calm my racing heart, I can't help but wish the dream had been real or lasted a few moments longer.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I notice a slip of paper on my nightstand. Unfolding it, I squint at his neat cursive, because of course he has good handwriting. He's out on business, dealing with his agent and publisher.

My lips twitch into a reluctant smile. He even took the time to remind me there’s food in the kitchen, that Honeybun is takencare of, there’s medicine on the nightstand, and instructs me to not do anything today. I need to recover, I'm told. He signs with his name. No hearts, no declarations of love, just Braxton.

"Jeez," I mutter to no one, "bossy much?"

But deep down, I’m touched by his thoughtfulness. Braxton didn't have to play nursemaid. Maybe he isn't the unfeeling twat I thought he was.

I sit up, pushing the sheets off, and Honeybun lifts his head, glaring at me..

"What?" I ask. "Did you expect breakfast in bed?" He huffs and resettles.

Dragging myself to the edge of the bed, I notice the smell of stale sweat clinging to my skin. The fever must've broken at some point. I wrinkle my nose and give my armpit a sniff, grimacing at the confirmation.

"Oh, wow!” No wonder Braxton left. “First up, a shower for my stink.”

With care, I stand, shuffling my way to the bathroom. Peeling off the damp pajamas, I twist the taps, and steam fills the small space. Stepping under the hot spray, I sigh as the water cascades over me, washing away the stickiness of illness.

Toweling off, it hits me … work! I'm late. No, worse than late. I missed work. My heart hammers against my ribcage as I imagine Lila being worried sick.They're probably freaking out, picturing me dead in a ditch somewhere or kidnapped.

I rush out of the bathroom, nearly tripping over Honeybun, who has relocated to a sunny patch on the floor. My phone sits on the nightstand, its screen glowing with a full battery.

Shocked, I decide Braxton must have plugged it in because Ineverremember to charge my phone.

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