Page 31 of The Passion

Pulling back the covers, I lift her into the bed, lying down beside her and pulling her tightly to my body. Her head is now on my chest above my racing heart, and after a moment, her hands start to slide around my chest and her legs entangle themselves with mine.

And then it happens.

The faintest whisper.

“I trust you… only you.”

Her tears start again and drop onto my chest as I hold her, sharing all that I have. Every bit of my warmth and strength to bring her back to me.

Finally, the silence of the night takes over the room and she is asleep.

Safe with me where she belongs, but I have no idea if it’s where she will stay.

Chapter Seven

FELISHA

My body feels so heavy, and I don’t want to open my eyes.

The warmth is comforting, and I don’t even have to wonder where I am. The ever-alluring smell of Flynn is what is wrapped all around me and giving me that sense of calm that only he ever seems to bring me.

As much as I hate that fact, I can’t change it.

Hearing his steady breathing, I hope he is still sleeping so I can make my escape before having to face my embarrassment. I couldn’t even manage to make it through yesterday, so starting the day in another state of pure heightened anxiety is not a great idea. Avoiding it is a much better solution.

I can feel I still have underwear on, and that is a good thing because I was in no state last night to even speak, let alone do anything else.

Lying on my stomach on the mattress, the weight of Flynn’s perfectly toned arm is across my back and his hand locked on my waist. Like he is making sure I can’t leave, but I know I can’t stay either.

Ever so slowly I try to wriggle sideways while being a contortionist with my arm behind my back and trying to lift his off me. It’s like dead weight, and for every inch I try to creep out of his clutches, it just feels like his fingers are digging into my side tighter, even though his slow breathing hasn’t changed at all to indicate he is aware of what I’m doing. Finally, after what feels like forever, I am almost free of his arm. I’m balancing precariously on the side of the mattress, with only one hand available to stabilize myself while the other is still holding his arm that feels like the weight of a tree trunk in the air just above my body.

How the hell do I get myself into these situations, seriously. I’m such a mess lately.

I try to lift the last bit of blanket that seems to be trapping my foot on the bed so I can’t lower it to the floor. I give it an extra little kick with my foot but not enough to rock the bed.

I can’t seem to free my foot, so I try to push a little harder now… then catastrophe hits.

“Meeeeoooowwww,” shrieks through the room, and a white fluffball bounces all over me, scratching at Flynn through the sheets, hissing and clawing at him as Flynn sits upright in a flash which totally unbalances me, and the next thing, I’m tumbling to the floor.

“Fucking Sassy, little bitch,” he roars as I hit the floor, sheet wrapped around me, legs and arms flailing everywhere as I feel like I’m stuck in a never-ending piece of white linen that is wrapping around me tighter and tighter.

“I swear to God, you have been my biggest mistake.” I hear his feet hit the floor on the other side of the bed, and his voice gets closer. “Get the fuck out!” he bellows as I see him come into view, and I can’t move, wrapped up like a damn burrito.

“You better not have been talking to me,” is all I can say before I start to giggle, and then next thing, his hands are on hisknees, and he is laughing at me too. Both of us are now laughing from deep in our bellies, like I haven’t laughed in months. To be honest, maybe years.

Eventually he pulls himself together and leans down, but when I think he is about to unwrap me, instead he picks me up and hoists me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Flynnnnnn.” I squeal like a little girl, but I’m not able to do a damn thing about it. Marching to the bedroom door and slamming it shut, he then turns back toward the bed.

“I’ll worry about the scratch marks on the door later,” he mumbles as we head back to the bed.

Gently placing my feet on the ground at the end of his bed, I can feel the softness of the rug in my toes but can confirm the polished concrete floor is hard as hell.

“Now let me unwrap my little present and make sure you aren’t hurt.” It’s a total change in his tone from when he was just screaming at the cat that I’m guessing was not happy I was sleeping in her bed.

“I’m not a present. Just a squashed burrito.” I try not to laugh because you can’t be serious when you are standing in front of the man you tell yourself you supposedly hate, in your underwear, and incapacitated by a probably expensive, high-thread-count bedsheet.

“Have I ever told you how much I love Mexican food?” And all of a sudden, I know I’m in trouble as he slowly licks up the side of my neck. “Especially breakfast burritos…” His voice trails off, and as much as I try to stop it, the only noise in the room is a moan leaving my lips the moment his lips are on the most sensitive part of my neck, and the sheet finally falls from me to the floor.

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