Page 13 of Satisfied
Christ, what was I thinking?
I yank the covers over my head, bite hard on the pillow, and let out a muted scream, kicking my feet with both frustration and excitement. My body is deliciously lax and my mind is clear, but my heart is at war with the rest of me. I would like to claim that I was drunk, that alcohol was the reason I wantonly begged Ransom to touch me, but I was completely sober of mind. At twenty, I’m not even of legal drinking age.
Before he touched me, I had so many questions about how those fast fingers of his would feel against me, and boy, did I get a masterclass on it.
I can almost feel them on me now, exploring bits of me that even I have been nervous to touch. The thought of sex used to scare me, so I used whatever excuses I could come up with to push it away from my mind. But I wasn’t lying to Ransom when I told him that the rules don’t apply to us.
There are no rules when it comes to us.
My eyes widen at the memory of his words to me before I fell asleep, and I quickly sit upright, the covers falling off my shoulders.
“Tonight, if your ex enters your dreams, invite me into them too. Let me take care of him for you. In and out of the real world.”
God, does that mean that I didn’t dream those words? Ransom actually said them at some point during the night. They didn’t register as strongly after he turned my brain to mush, but now that I think about it…
The sound of footsteps approaching the door sends my pulse racing. I yank at the covers to pull them over my shoulders, but then I realize that I’m not naked underneath. Shit, I could have sworn I fell asleep naked last night. A vague memory of Ransom waking me in the middle of the night to dress me in his sweatshirt slips into my mind.
Oh God.
This couldn’t get any more mortifying.
And yet, it does. My jaw nearly drops when the bedroom door opens and in he walks, dressed in nothing but gray sweatpants that hang loosely at his waist. He’s ripped, lean with firm muscles I never would have expected from someone who supposedly spends most of his time behind a computer. His hair is mussed and those curls are wild, his golden eyes bright under the morning sun.
He’s gorgeous.
“You’re up,” he says, voice raspy as if he hasn’t been up for long himself. Whatever reservations I had all fall away when I look at his face. I find it hard to be self-conscious around him when last night his tongue lapped at my flesh like it was his favorite candy. The memory of that alone is enough to light a fire inside of me. My eyes drop to the hand holding a breakfasttray and my nipples plump up at the memory of those fingers fondling them.
Stop, Abby!
Focus!
I brush a hand through my hair and push it from my face, blushing wildly as the shirtless man approaches the bed. “Morning,” I offer shyly.
“Did you sleep well? Any nightmares?”
I drop my eyes and pluck at the covers. “No dreams,” I say, keeping my eyes away from his lest I find myself hypnotized by his gaze once more. “I had the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, sitting down on the bed and setting the food tray between us. “I made us breakfast. You need the fuel.”
“You didn’t have to,” I say, my gaze shifting to the stack of fluffy pancakes with fresh blueberries and whipped cream, alongside perfectly cooked scrambled eggs with a sprinkle of chives, crispy bacon and a side of fruit salad.
I stare at the food in surprise. The breakfast spread is anything but simple, and I don’t think I could make half the things on the tray. “That’s…wow. It must have taken you hours to make this.”
He chuckles. “Not quite. I’ve been cooking simple things since I was a teen. And then when my parents died, I had to learn even more out of necessity.”
My hands fly to his before I can stop myself. “I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t know about your parents.”
“It’s been years,” he says, patting my hand, but even with the smile, I can tell this is a wound that hasn’t healed yet. Ransom grabs the bottle of water resting on the tray and uncaps it before passing it to me. “Drink this.”
I stare helplessly at him, unsure of what to say to wipe the sadness from his eyes, so I simply do what he asks. “The food looks good, thank you,” I say, passing the bottle back to him.
“You mentioned having a fondness for fluffy pancakes with fresh blueberries,” he says.
I blush. I only said that once! Just an offhand comment in one of our conversation as our friendship grew over the last few weeks. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did.” He smirks. “I remember everything about you.”
I blush even harder, cutting into the pancake and bringing it to my mouth, and whatever else I was going to say floats away when I take a bite. My eyes widen in surprise as I lift my gaze to his. “Oh my God.”
