Page 52 of Reclaimed

My eyes drift.

Pop!

It happens again.

Pop!

And again.

Pop!

And again.

I flip over the other way, my left shoulder protesting the position change, and stare at the back of the couch.

“Aiden.”

Fuck.

“Can you come here, please?” Isla calls.

“What did I tell you about saying please?” I retort.

“Come here, Aiden.” Her response is firm.

I’m off the couch and down the hall in ten seconds. My fingers wrap around the silver knob, pausing as the gravity of the moment hits. Besides the walk through, I haven’t been in her room in the entire time I’ve stayed here.

My molars grind together and my hand tightens on the knob.

“I know you’re outside my door, Aiden.”

The door creaks loudly in the quiet night as I push it open. The room smells like her, something warm and floral. The first step over the threshold has nerves firing to life in my stomach.

I’ve fooled around with a few women in my life, but not once have I been inside their bedrooms.

Isla looks like a goddess lying in her bed. She has one elbow shoved in her pillow, her hand propping up her head as she watches me step into her room with only a sliver of moonlightproviding light. A puffy duvet is tugged to her waist. I follow the fabric upward and nearly choke on my own spit.

Good god, she wearsthatto bed?

The black lacy nightgown is held up by two thin straps on each shoulder, and a plunging neck dips deep between her breasts. The satin bodice appears to be both sexy and comfortable as it flows loosely around her stomach. How short is it? What does she have on underneath? Is this her normal sleeping attire or did she put it on just for me?

“Can’t sleep?” she asks, and I realize that in the dark, she probably can’t read my face very well, or the way my heated gaze sweeps her from head to toe. I blink to clear it.

“I’m okay,” I mumble, pissed at myself for bothering her.

“I can hear that you’re not. Come here.” She scoots over and pats the empty side of the bed.

I stiffen, my shoulders rising toward my ears as tension creeps into my body. “I’m fine on the couch, starshine.”

“Please,” she whispers.

The seriousness etched into her features is only highlighted by the moon. A shudder courses down my spine as I ease myself onto the edge of her mattress and slide beneath the covers.

She finds my hand at my side and slips her fingers through mine. A bit of the tension leaks out of me. “You’ll sleep better here.” Then she rolls over while still holding my hand, pulling me until I’m flush against her back.

Something in me splinters, jagged shards pricking my insides and shredding all the flimsy pieces holding me together.

With a groan, I bury my face in her hair, the brown strands still smelling faintly like the dye, as a tremor jerks my body. I throw my thigh over both of hers and wrap my arm snug around her middle, dragging us as tight as two people can possibly be. The rise and fall of her back is steady, an anchor, as I breathe her in.

---