Page 70 of Drop Shot
He chuckles. “I have to test the softness of the sheets.”
I look over my shoulder at him, my face illuminated by the screen of my phone. “Every night?”
He shrugs and pulls the covers up to his chin. “Habit.”
“You seem slightly more sober,” I comment.
Another yawn. “The water and shower helped.”
“Good.”
“Night, Whim.”
“Night,” I echo. My eyes are suddenly too heavy to keep open so I set my phone down on the nightstand.
With the warm presence of Elias behind me, I fall asleep quickly.
Light filters in around the cracks in the curtains as I slowly come awake. Awareness slowly seeps into my brain and I realize that I’m warmer than usual. A moment later I take in the feel of the arms around me, the press of a male behind me—a male that’s very much hard. I don’t mean to do it, but my butt wiggles against the stiff length.
“Mm,” he hums sleepily behind me.
I bite down on my lip and stop moving. My breath is frozen in my lungs. I’m scared to even breathe for fear my hips will move on their own again.
He squeezes me tighter and I close my eyes, trying my best to ignore my body’s natural reaction to a man I’m attracted to holding me like I’m his favorite teddy bear.
A second later he presses his head into the crook of my neck, lips grazing the top of my shoulder. A full body shiver goes through me.
“You smell good,” he murmurs sleepily. The hand he has on my stomach slides lower, fingers rubbing idly at the bare skin of my belly above the band of my pajama shorts.
I stay silent. I’m scared if I open my mouth a moan will slip out. Or worse, I’ll ask him to slide those fingers into my shorts.
His fingers stay there, warm and gentle and so close to my core that tightens in anticipation. Elias might’ve said it’s been a while for him, but there’s no way it’s nearly as long as it’s been for me. My last hook up was nearly a year and a half ago. My body is desperate for some male attention.
Elias’s fingers freeze suddenly. His even breaths turn choppy.
“Whimsy?”
I squish my eyes closed.Speak, I will myself. “Yes?” I squeak.
“Fuck,” he curses, his body jolting away from mine.
My body feels downright frigid with his absence.
His feet hit the floor a moment later. “I’m so fucking sorry, Whimsy.”
I sit up and face him. “It’s okay.” I look down at my hands, staring at the pale pink polish. “I…” I don’t want to say I liked it—that’s way too embarrassing to admit. “You were asleep.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and shrug. “It’s no biggie. It was bound to happen eventually.”
His hands rest on his trim hips. His black boxer-briefs are doing little to nothing to disguise his erection.
He doesn’t say anything. Just shakes his head and disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself.
I flop back onto the pillows. Covering my face with my hands I take several deep breaths as the shower turns on.
This doesn’t change anything.
It can’t.
We still have to finish out this tour in our fake relationship. We can’t let anything—even if it’s purely physical—complicate things.
