Page 12 of Hire A Cuddler

There are so many reasons I should walk away from her. One being that I’m fifteen years older than her and another is her lack of experience. I don’t want to steamroll her or pressure her in any way. In this instant, I convince myself that I need to slow down.

Before I fuck this up and she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

7

HAVEN

The movie is almost over,and luckily I’ve seen it a few times or else I wouldn’t have a clue what’s going on. I have stared at the screen in front of me, but I haven’t paid attention. All of my thoughts are on the massive man sitting next to me. About halfway through the movie, he turned his hand palm up on the cushion between us. He hasn’t said anything about it, but it’s like the elephant in the room because that’s all I can think about.

I’m attracted to my cuddler. I shouldn’t be, and I’m sure it’s against some kind of rule, but I can’t help it. I’m not sure how anyone can not fall for his charm. Just being with him makes me feel protected, seen, and heard. It’s like his whole focusis on me and what I have to say. Of course, he is paid to do just that.

I have to keep reminding myself that this is not a date… even though it sure feels like one.

“No pressure, Haven.”

I’m so lost in my own thoughts I’m not even sure what he’s talking about. I turn to look at him, and he’s so close. “Huh?”

He doesn’t look at me. “No pressure. I can almost hear the wheels turning, and your mind is working in overtime. No pressure, just enjoy the movie.”

His hand flexes, and I think about what it would be like if I put my hand in his. Yea, I shook his hand but I imagine this would be different. His hand would be firm but flexible. It would be way bigger than mine, and I wonder what that would feel like. Would it be like a hug for my hand? While all these thoughts whirl in my head, I’m still not saying anything.

He finally looks at me, and I have to suck in a breath the way his eyes are a darker brown and laced with hunger. If I doubted his attraction to me, I don’t now. This is more than a therapy session. At least it sure as heck feels like it.

His voice is husky. “I thought we could go slow. My hand is here if you want to hold it.”

This can’t be natural the way my body reacts to just the thought of holding his hand. It’s crazy, but sure enough, my nipples harden, and there’s a pull in my lower belly. I whisper back to him, “You want to hold my hand?”

There’s humor in his eyes. “Yeah, peaches. I want to hold your hand.”

The nickname surprises me, and I want to ask him about it, but I’m thinking too much about the fact I’m about to hold his hand that I can’t even begin to process a question to him about it.

I slowly move my hand across the cushion, and when I’m almost touching him, I stop, and all I can do is stare. Don’t get me wrong. I want to hold his hand, but just the thought has me freaking out, but not the normal way. At least what’s normal for me. I’m not fearful or anxious. I’m not upset about it or wanting to avoid it; it's more of an overwhelming anticipation.

I huff out a breath as my hand trembles next to his. “You think I’m ridiculous, don’t you?”

He flexes his fingers, and I can’t take my eyes off his strong, long-fingered hand. “Why would I think that?” he asks.

I lick my lips and look at him. “Because it’s just holding hands. It’s not that big of a deal.”

He sounds casual and not the least bit judgmental about it. “To some people it is.”

I hesitate, wishing I had the nerve to reach for him. As I sit here and silently debate with myself, he says, “You know, we’re not so different, Haven.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know you had your mom and dad but not really. Not the way you needed them anyway. I was raised in foster care. Home after home, I made a point of keeping my guard up everywhere I went. I have trust issues, and there are still things that haunt me to this very day.”

I put one hand to my chest. “Oh, King. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“There were times I wanted to cut myself off from everyone, and I tried that. I was lucky, though. I was thirteen when I was put in a foster home with my four foster brothers and my foster sister. Hell, I feel bad calling them that. They’re my family… they are my brothers and sister. If it wasn’t for them, I’m not sure what would have happened to me.”

I turn to the side, facing him, resting my head on the back of the couch. The movie continues toplay, and it’s almost over, but it’s forgotten as I ask him, “Will you tell me about them?”

He turns toward me, but I notice he leaves his hand open between us. “You really want to hear about them?”

“Of course I do.”

He seems to think about it. “Well, I’m the oldest.”

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