Page 58 of When It's Us
She cocks a brow at me. “You’re sleeping naked?
I stop, one knee on the bed, one foot on the floor. “Is that a problem?”
She doesn’t say anything, running her eyes over my naked body.
I grin. “I knew it,” I tease, “still can’t resist a big cock and a pretty face.”
She chucks my pillow at me.
“Okay, okay. Fine,” I tell her, “but they’re just gonna come off again later.”
I was totally teasing, but she rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Someone is sure of himself.”
I immediately hate the bite in her tone. It’s like a switch has flipped and she’s back to being irritated with me. It’s fucking exhausting. And confusing because why the fuck do I care?
I stand and silently pull my underwear on. Maybe it’s how she can’t seem to look at me—the way I suddenly want her to. With that thought alone, I decide it’s probably a good idea to put a bit of distance between us, so I grab a pair of sweats and throw those on too.
Bending down, I grab and then hand her leggings to her, panties still tangled in them.
“Can you get my bag? The little one,” she asks, still not looking at me.
“Sure,” I say, moving a few things around so I can get to it. I hand it over and sit on the edge of the bed with my back to her to give her some privacy.
When the rustle of clothing stops and silence fills the van, I blow out a breath and look at her over my shoulder. “You good?”
“Of course,” she says, and I know I’m not imagining the usual edge returned to her voice.
Not sure if she’s regretting what happened, I choose my words and tone carefully. She’s closed off again, and it’s not sitting well with me for some reason.
“Do you want to talk?”
She’s distracted, putting her hair up in a hair tie and glancing at me. “About what?”
I stare at her. Maybe it’s because I’m used to women wanting to talk after sex, or maybe it’s because she loves to use that sharp tongue on me, but something is bugging me about how she’s acting.
“About what just happened?” I feel like an idiot posing it as a question; she should know what I’m talking about. But wait…doIwant to talk about it? Not particularly. So why the hell can’t I shut up?
Her voice is cool and nonchalant. “It’s an orgasm, not a proposal. What is there to talk about?”
The question catches me off guard and I open my mouth to speak, but she’s right. It’s sex. We’ve fucked around before and we’ve already made it clear that’s all this is, so why the need for clarification?
I shrug and then nod. “Okay,” I say and click off the light above the bed before climbing under the covers and settling on my back.
“Night,” she says.
Turning my head on my pillow, I can make out the white of her shirt, the loose bun she’s thrown her hair up in, and the slope of her neck. She turns over to get comfortable, putting her back to me.
I have the ridiculous thought of turning toward her, hauling her against me like I did the night of the storm—only this time, I want to bury my face in the spot between her neck and shoulder.
“Night.”
Hutch
Iwakeupwitha hard cock, and a shit ton of curly red hair in my face, Ginger’s messy bun having come undone in the night.
Apparently, webothhave wandering hands because mine is underhershirt this time, and I currently have a handful of Ginger’s left tit. The weight of it in my hand feels incredible, and I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t give it a little squeeze. Her nipple puckers against my palm, and a sleepy smile tips up my lips while inhaling the sweet scent at the nape of her neck.
After a few more seconds of relishing finally having my hands on her again, I carefully pull my hand out—I’m not a complete and total prick—to keep myself from further feeling her up without her permission. She let me get a little rowdy with her last night, and I can’t say the idea of having free rein to fuck her anytime I want isn’t appealing, because my cock gives a little jerk at the thought.
