Page 47 of Stick Handled

Should I feel guilty? Probably, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit this makes me feel alive, like I’ve tasted something I can’t un-taste. An army couldn’t pry me away from her at this point.

When I reach my bed upstairs, she stirs again, barely awake, her arms slipping around my neck in some kind of sleepy reflex. For a second, I think she might say something, call my name maybe, but she just snuggles in, trusting me completely without even realizing it. She smells so sweet, and her skin is so soft against mine that it takes everything I have to stop myself from waking her up for a second round. My girl needs rest.

I lower her down and head for my bathroom to fetch some wet wipes. When I return, she’s exactly how I left her, her full lips slightly parted, her hair fanning the pillow. God, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I take a deep breath and pull out a wet wipe before sitting next to her. Careful not to wake her, I gently wipe her arousal and traces of blood off her inner thighs, my cock straining to life again. I’ve never done this before, never even thought of it. But I have this need to take care of her and protect her that’s just as strong as the need to have her. I want my girl comfortable, but waking her up to wash her is out of the question. She needs sleep, and I don’t want to risk her going home. I need her here with me.

I finish up, throw the wipes in the trashcan, and pull the covers over her.

I need a shower. I take one last look at her before heading to the bathroom.

Under the water, tonight's events keep playing on a loop, every touch, every sound she made, and how right it felt even when it shouldn’t. If anything, I should be second-guessing this, getting hit with a wave of guilt strong enough to drown out whatever this thrill is, but no. Instead, it’s like my pulse has been cranked up to a whole new level, and there’s no coming down from it. Not ever.

When I’m done, I slip back into the bedroom. She’s still there, stretched out in my bed like she owns the place. And damn if that doesn’t do something to me. I don’t let women stay the night. It’s a rule. It keeps things simple, keeps me in control, and keeps them in check. But here she is, asleep, tangled up in my sheets, and there’s this strange feeling creeping in, something I haven’t felt in… ever.

I stand there watching her for a beat longer than I should, and yeah, it’s a risk. Rowan finds out, and it’s game over for both of us. But right now? I couldn’t care less. This is the first time a woman’s stayed in my bed, and it’s her. It’ll only be her.

I slip in next to Avery, my arm draping over the pillow between us, close enough to feel her warmth, and it’s like everything I knew before just shifted. I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of her breathing pull me under. And for the first time in a long time, sleep comes easily.

Sunlight’s starting to creep through the blinds when I crack an eye open, feeling the weight of someone lying beside me. For a second, I think I’m still dreaming, but then I see her. Avery is still asleep, curled up on her side, her face half-buried in my pillow, her face in inch away from mine. She’s thrown one of her legs over me, and the knowledge that she’s naked under the sheets isn’t helping my morning wood at all. My phone chimes, and I snatch it from the bedside table—8:34 AM.

Shit, I overslept. Rowan and Ares should be here any minute now. I groan, running a hand down my face to rub the sleep away. I haven’t slept this good in a while, and I think I know why. My phone chimes again, and I look down at a text from Rowan confirming that they’ll be here in five. Fuck. I look over at Avery.

She looks soft and peaceful, and I stop my hand midway to caressing her cheek.

I take a second to let everything sink in, watching the way her hair’s all messed up, her long lashes fluttering as she dreams, hopefully, of me.

I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her as I slide from under her leg, and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I don’t have time for much more, so I quietly get dressed with the toothbrush in my mouth, cursing myself as my belt clanks against the bed. Avery just lets out a sleepy moan and turns to her other side. There’s a thrill, knowing she’s here in my bed, wrapped up in my sheets, that no one else has ever done to her what we did last night.

I head downstairs, straight to the coffee machine, and turn it on as well as the TV. The faint hum of the coffee machine kicks on, and I’m just about to pour myself a cup when there’s a knock at the door. I look down at my phone—8:39 AM. Rowan’s never late.

He’s already talking as I open the door, stepping inside with Ares right behind him.

“Good morning,” he greets me, walking past. Ares gives me a curt nod which is his way of greeting or speaking, most of the time.

“Morning,” I say as I close the door and stride back into the kitchen to make us all coffee.

“You look like you just woke up,” Rowan throws out, opening my fridge to get a bottle of water.

“Because I just did,” I admit.

“Seems like everyone overslept today,” he says after taking a sip. “I tried waking Avery up, but she didn’t even open her door. She probably stayed up all night reading as usual.”

I keep my expression steady, hiding the relief from showing on my face. He has no idea.

“She’s probably just catching up on sleep,” I say casually. The thrill of it twists tighter in my gut. The fact that she’s upstairs while he’s here, completely oblivious, is like gasoline to a flame.

Rowan shakes his head, sipping his coffee. “If she doesn’t wake up by the time we have to leave for practice, we’ll leave without her. And she probably won’t.” He shrugs.

I nod, keeping my expression easy, but I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I take a sip of my coffee and give the boys my most unaffected smile. But Ares’s stare slices right through it.

His gaze locks on me for a second too long, and there’s this flicker of realization in his eyes, almost like he can smell the whole situation out. Hell, he probably smells the lingering scent of sex in here. The bastard’s like a damn bloodhound when it comes to secrets. And then his icy-blue eyes slide to the stairs before landing back on mine.Shit.The corner of his mouth lifts, just barely, but enough for me to know he knows. The guy doesn’t miss a damn thing.

That look sends a warning straight to my gut. But hell, I can’t bring myself to care. It’s risky, maybe even reckless, but the danger just fuels me. Ares may not say a word, but his silence is louder than anything. Rowan’s little sister. Upstairs. And me, standing here, acting like nothing’s happening. And he knows.

I keep the conversation easy, leaning into the thrill of almost getting caught.

“Ready to hit the ice?” I ask, steering us back to neutral ground. But the thrill of it? That doesn’t go anywhere.

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