Page 110 of Coach
God, what were we doing?
I should’ve felt weird or uncertain, maybe even a little trapped.
We’d moved fast—toofast, if I was honest. And yet, as I lay there, held tight in the strength of his arms, I didn’t feel any of that. I searched deep, sought that center within me that guided my thoughts and actions, that told me when I was doingsomething stupid (whether I listened or not).
It didn’t speak.
Didn’t object.
In fact, it didn’t say a fucking word.
It felt . . . at peace.
Safe.
Wanted.
I exhaled and let my fingers brush against his ribs, lightly tracing the curve there, the dip just beneath where his breath caught.
Where was this headed?
Where did I want it to go?
Did Shane even want anything more than a good screw and a night’s rest?
I didn’t know.
Couldn’t know.
Shane wasn’t Mr. Open Communication, and I wasn’t naïve enough to think one incredible night erased years of walls and guarded hearts.
But I knew one thing, one thing that scared me more than all the rest.
Iwantedto know.
I wanted more.
More moments like this.
More mornings waking up in his bed.
More of that low, rough voice telling me things he probably didn’t even realize he was brave enough tosay.
And I wanted to be the one he said them to.
A small smile tugged at my lips as I nestled a little closer, content to soak in the warmth for just a little while longer, content to give myself to the man who’d claimed me, if only for the moment.
I must’ve dozed off, because some time later, my eyes fluttered open again to find Shane propped up on an elbow staring down at me. There was no expression on his face, none whatsoever.
Then he spoke one word, a rasp of smoke and grinding gears that made me want to jump atop him again.
“Morning.”
“Good morning,” I replied, bleariness blurring my words.
He reached down with his off-hand and moved a lock of hair from my forehead. I wondered if he knew how intimate the gesture felt . . . if he felt it, too.
“Hungry?” he asked.
