Page 1 of Not Another Yesterday
Part I
Wednesday,November 23rd
Cat
Waking up cold and alone was not what I’d envisioned when I slid into my absolute thirst trap of a boyfriend’s bed last night. But alas, here I am.
I keep my eyes shut, suspended in that murky space between sleep and waking. I slowly register the soft cotton sheets beneath me, the faint sounds of traffic drifting up through the third-story window of Ronan and Shane’s apartment, and the near-arctic temperature of the room. I pull the thick down comforter tighter, the skin on my arms chilled. Ronan runs hot, and when we spend the night together, it’s always with the window cracked—even now that we’re deep into fall. We even saw our first snow a few days ago. I don’t usually mind; Ronan’s body heat keeps me comfortable and warm at night.
I reach toward the right side of the bed, searching for him. I expect my fingers to be met with warm skin, with the curve of muscle under my palm. But he’s not there.
Ronan’s not in bed with me, and I couldn’t honestly say that he slept in this bed at all last night. He wasn’t here when I fell asleep. It’s a disappointing realization, though not an unfamiliar one.
I blink my eyes open, noting the slatelike darkness outside the window. It’s never pitch-black, not with the city lights illuminating the night sky and Ronan’s bedroom. He only closes his blackout curtains when we plan to sleep in, which is rare.
My internal clock tells me it’s an hour or two before I’d normally get up. I could check the time, but that would mean moving more than just my arm. All I know is it’s early. Way too early for my liking.
I’ve never been a morning person. Ronan, on the other hand, is. I’m not sure if it’s nature or nurture, but he always seems to have an easier time getting out of bed than I do. Part of it, I know, is history. For most of his life he tried to be home as little as possible, tried to escape the abuse. Even now, over a year after the last act of violence was inflicted on him, some routines have stuck.
Another reason he gets up so early is that Ronan is just really damn busy.
I sense him before I hear a sound. No lights. No footsteps. Just a quiet shift in the air that tells me he’s here. My body is so finely tuned to him, warming with a pleasant current originating in my heart and spreading into every finger and toe. I turn my head and my lips pull into a smile.
What a sight he is. And all mine.
That fact is as calming as slipping into a hot bath on a cold night. Like collapsing into bed when you’re bone tired. Like the first bite of food you’ve been craving for days.
I allow my eyes to roll over his bare torso, the dim light and shadows emphasizing every delicious dip and swell of muscle sculpted through years of conditioning and punishing workouts.
Ronan’s hair is damp, mussed like he towel-dried it in a rush. Light catches on a few stray droplets clinging to his smooth skin. I have a carnal craving to lick away the single bead sliding down his chest.
I follow it with my gaze, envious of its slow caress as it traces the lines I ache to touch. My pulse quickens when both the droplet and my eyes reach the defined striations of his lower abs, those muscles leading like an arrow to the only thing keeping this from going full X-rated—a white towel slung low around his waist.
Enough staring.
“Good morning, sweet boy,” I say, my voice a sleepy rasp, even though my senses—my body—are wide awake.
Ronan turns his head, gifting me a smile that could light this entire city.
“Morning, baby,” he says, baritone low, a sound that sparks through me, heightening my already-stimulated senses.
He moves to my side of the bed and leans over me, resting his hands on either side of my shoulders before feathering a kiss against my lips. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nope. Your absence from my side did.” I wind my arms around his neck and pull him down for a deeper kiss.
The groan he releases does nothing to cool the heat already pooling deep in my stomach. Want sharpens into need the moment his left hand skims over my stomach and slides underneath my tank top, inching upward until he cups my breast.
“Can’t you just skip class today?” I moan softly, my breath catching as his thumb grazes over my nipple. It pebbles under his touch.
He rolls the stiff peak between his thumb and index finger, priming my body to receive him. God, he knows me so well, knows exactly what I like and how I like it.
“I really can’t,” he says, his voice husky, but his lips contradict the words as they press to my jawline, then trail down my neck.
“Funny,” I breathe, head tilted to the side to grant him access to more of me. “Your words say one thing, but the rest of your body says something entirely different.”
My hands find his hips, then the edge of the towel tucked tightly around his waist. One tug, and the last barrier between us falls to the floor.
God, he’s gorgeous. Every. Single. Part. Of him.
