Page 75 of In the Net
She lets out a small chuckle, and I feel it vibrate through her body. She curls herself closer to my chest, her pillow-soft hair nuzzling against my shoulder. It’s so damn comfortable, I feel like I could just stand here in my doorway all night long. Maybe fall asleep standing up, with her in my arms like this.
But then a jolt moves through her. Her eyelids open, awareness sharpening in her gaze, and she quickly wiggles out of my arms to stand on her own two feet. Disappointment clatters through me.
“What time is it?” she asks
“Almost three. I was just going to let you have my bed tonight.” I hurry to add, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Her lips tug down. “I don’t want to make you do that. I’ll walk home.”
The thought of her walking back home, all alone, in the dark, in the very deadest hour of the night hits me. Not a fucking chance.
“It’s too late. And you’re too tired.” I brush past her into my room, opening a drawer of my dresser and grabbing a clean t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts with a drawstring for her to wear. I hold them out. “Here, you can change into these.” I don’t want to give her any time to even think about fighting me on staying over. She’s not walking back home alone tonight.
I’m lucky that she’s tired, because the thought doesn’t seem to be appealing to her, either. Not without reluctance, she takes the clothes from my hands and steps into the bathroom. I try not to let my cock thicken too much at the thought of her just feet away behind the bathroom door, stepping out of her clothes.
Then I remember that she’s not just stepping out of her clothes. She’s stepping into mine.
That’s enough to make me lose the battle with the blood flow that’s trying to stiffen my dick. I’m able to get it under control by the time she comes back out, though.
“I checked with my roommates,” she says behind me, walking back into my room as I’m pulling out a pair of shorts for myself. I normally sleep in boxers, but that doesn’t feel right, even if I’m going to be on the floor while she’s in my bed. “They’re all back home safe.”
“That’s good,” I say. Then I turn around, and lightning roars through my body.
I knew I was going to see Harper wearing my clothes. I knew I was going to like it. But I didn’t anticipate the effect it was going to have.
Fire burns through my veins, masculine satisfaction pounding in my chest like a drum. Her body swims in my oversized clothes, and I enjoy that visual far too much. She’s undone her ponytail, and her fiery, auburn hair cascades over her shoulders.
I can feel my groin swelling. I quickly walk past her into the bathroom to change so she doesn’t see the tent forming in my pants. I take longer than I should in the bathroom, willing my body temperature lower and trying to tame the erection that has my groin tight and aching with want.
When I come back out and step into my room, I find Harper lying on the floor, one of the pillows from my bed tucked under her head.
“I’m definitely not taking your bed,” she says before I can even comment. “So don’t try to argue.”
Defiance sounds good in her voice. It always has. But no amount of defiance she’s thrown at me has ever convinced me to back down.
“Yes, you are.” I fold my arms over my chest.
She sits up. “No, I’m not,” she says, making her voice deep to imitate mine, folding her own arms to mock me.
I try to keep my mouth from twitching.
My girlfriend knows how to be a brat, and sometimes I like it. Maybe more than sometimes.
I set my jaw in determination, my eye contact with her not wavering.
“I know your shoulder hurts,” she says. “I’m not going to have you blaming me if sleeping on the floor makes it worse and you play badly in your next game.”
She knows my shoulder hurts? How?
Like she can read the question in my eyes, she rolls her own. “As if anyone could fail to notice how you kept wincing and favoring it all night. You got smashed against the dasher boards in your last game, and it’s been bothering you ever since.”
Something kindles in my chest. Just how closely is she watching me when I’m not looking?
“My shoulder’s fine,” I protest.
“Do five pushups, then,” Harper bites back.
My eyebrows knit. “What?”
