Page 48 of Howl You Doin?
He winks and bends to untie his shoes before toeing his way out of them, then flops onto the bed, but he springs back up the next second.
I move to sit on the bed and take my own shoes off, not knowing how to even respond to that. Educate me?
“Now scoot over, hellcat, and let me hold you,” he says, rising to his feet like he can’t sit still and rolling up his shirt sleeves.
“You want to hold me?” Even to me, it sounds silly, but the way he says it without hesitation sets off a flutter in my stomach.
“I’ll be honest with you, Whitley,” he says, his tone sounding a bit more sober. He rocks back on his heels, his expression downcast. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Our gazes clash as those words turn that flutter into a swarm of butterflies, and I am ever so grateful I didn’t tell him I spent the last day avoiding him. I would feel like such an ass.
“I haven’t been able to sleep.” He runs a hand through his thick hair while trying to avoid my gaze, and I can make out dark circles under his eyes. “I just want to hold you. If you’ll let me.”
He asked for it so sincerely that I just can’t help letting him win. “Okay.”
“Okay?” His gaze clears, and his shoulders visibly relax.
“But no sex,” I grouch at him, standing and heading to the bathroom to change into some sleep clothes. I at least need some sort of boundary between us—the man can make me fold with just a touch.
His large frame crawls into the bed and I can just make out his white socks on his feet.
“Fine, but I told you, woman. You will beg,” he says, and breaks off with a yawn, “for this dick before I give it to you.”
I sigh, flick the light off, and walk to the bed, noticing he is above the covers. The only thing lighting the room is the dim side table lamp I used earlier to help me read.
“Egotistical ass.” I place my hands on my hips and narrow my gaze at him. “Promise to keep your hands—and more importantly, your dick—to yourself?”
I’m not really into taking advantage of drunk people, no matter how hard they try. After what happened in the maze, I know he’d probably consent to it if he were sober, but it just doesn’t sit well with me.
“Possibly. In the bed with you, c’mon.” Connor grabs the coverlet and moves it back, somehow knowing which side of the bed I usually sleep on and taking the other spot for himself.
He kicks his feet on top of the blanket and shudders as he plants his face into my pillow like he’s trying to soak in the smell of me.
I get in the bed, and I’m folded into strong arms as he pulls me across the sheets. The move is so cuddly that I offer no protest, liking the way he feels around me.
“Good girl,” his voice rumbles, making my pussy throb.
How can two words twist me up inside so easily?
I’m pulled onto his chest before I know what’s happening, my face pressed against a shirt-covered muscular pec. His hands run through my hair, then come up to massage my scalp, while he nuzzles the top of my head and groans as if he likes the way I smell and feel.
We stay like that for so many moments, his fingers touching me gently and leaving me weak. I wish he was like this all the time. I properly wrap my arm across him to shuffle closer as myeyes grow heavy, and the last thing I can remember is thinking I am in way over my head.
Chapter 17
Connor O’Doyle
Paws for reflection.
My brow furrowsas I awake and peek one eye open. A dark lock of hair belonging to someone else touches my face, but I don’t have to wonder who’s tucked safely in my arms. Her scent is not only all over me, but it’s around me, in my arms, in my very breaths, intoxicating and body thrumming, and it has been for hours.
Whitley moves in her sleep, making me painfully aware of my hard dick riding along her back. I wince, shift my hips, and pull my morning wood away.
Although my memory is a little fuzzy, I remember how I found myself in Whitley’s room and bed. I should be concerned that I’m here, and a part of me deeply is because it means I need to start accepting things I’ve been denying, but I’m oddly at ease waking beside her. She’s warm and soft, making me want to drag her closer until all those curves mold around me perfectly.
No woman has tempted me to sleep in any bed but my own in a very long time—it makes it easy to avoid attachments when I have no choice but to hide what I am.
It’s never been a desire of mine until now. Until her.
