Page 36 of Braving the Storm
Last night, I slept better than I have in… well… ever?
My eyes are still scratchy, and my head kinda throbs a little in a way that I’m not sure whether I should be concerned and start researching how far away the nearest medical center is, or if it’s nothing to worry about.
Honestly, one positive I can glean from recent events, is that after dropping into such a deep sleep, I feel a whole lot less like someone who is running from her past and more like a brand new woman.
Yet, when I go to adjust my weight and stretch, I realize it isn’t the heaviness of the blanket that feels so damn exquisite.
That pressure is coming from another body.
An extremely large body.
Oh my god.
My eyes pop open and that’s when it all rushes back in. Vivid technicolor replays begin sizzling through my brain of everything that happened on the kitchen counter last night.
How I practically nuzzled my uncle’s hand in desperate search of a morsel of attention.
Then, what came immediately after.
Sharing a bed.
Sharing. A. Bed.
Now? Well, now… I’ve somehow woken up tangled with his figure, spooning on this minuscule mattress, and the giant tattooed arm belonging to a man I shouldn’t be in bed with at all is draped over my waist, securing my back against his chest.
What’s worse is that my body alreadyknows.
I have to squeeze my eyes shut and suppress a moan. Even though my brain might be lagging behind, struggling to catch up on events, my pussy is alert and awake and begging for attention. She has a megaphone in hand and zero intention of paying heed when told to politely sit down and shut up.
The intense ache between my thighs is unbearable.
As is the location of my uncle’s hand. Because I don’t want to dare lift the blanket to confirm what the lusty bitch occupying my brain has already gleefully discovered.
His forearm bands across my waist, and as I follow the sensation of every point of contact, I follow that heavy weight to where his hand rests over the top of my sleep shorts.
At first, I refuse to believe the facts as they are excruciatingly presented. The reality currently pressed hot and seductive over thin cotton.
However, a single, tiny shift of my hips confirms everything I’m unwilling to admit to myself.
The feeling of him cupping my sex, while asleep, sends sparks and shivers racing beneath my skin. Two minutes ago, I was asleep and blissfully unaware of what was happening here. Now I’m awake, and my body is already coiled tight, begging for release, all thanks to the fact he’s holding me.
I mean, he’s holding a very fucking intimate part of my body, but as far as I can tell, it isn’t a conscious decision on his part. He’s dead asleep behind me. The steady rise and fall of his chest, thereverberations of his deep breathing flow through me from my spine to my chest, and it’s hypnotic.
God, I need to move. I need to very quietly and carefully escape from this clusterfuck because my ovaries feel like they’re about to start whining out loud if this unintentional teasing continues a moment longer.
As I try to plan my extraction from beneath his impossibly strong hold on me, that’s when I feel it. There is absolutely no ignoring the sizable truth.
The impressive length of him digging into my lower back, and this time I genuinely have to bite down on my bottom lip to suppress the horny gasp that threatens to escape.
Holy shit. He’s fully hard. His hands are all over me. I’m almost panting with need and utterly confused because there is no way a man like him could be attracted to a girl like me. Even in his sleep.
This is a level ten alert. Def con one. Sound the emergency warning system. Shit is about to detonate. Every inch of my skin tingles with static and desire, and my thighs squeeze together. His fingers are right there, resting on top of the scorched material covering my pussy.
My plan yesterday had been to get on a dating app, but then, after everything that happened with those messages and my fall, I now don’t want to go near my phone. Besides, I’m sure I remember hearing something at one time about limiting screen time if you’re concussed.
Oh god, but I’m so unbelievably horny.
As I make another tiny shift, clenching and squeezing in my futile effort to ease that unbearable ache, I wince, not because of my head, but rather because that small movement just revealed the truth of exactly how slick my pussy and upper thighs are.
