Page 60 of Wallflower
Do I peel off his shirt? Shove my hand down his pants? I mean, it’s got to be bad form to accept an orgasm and not return the favor, but this already feels like a lot. And after all the crying and eating and coming, I kind of want to… snuggle?
Chord pushes up on his elbows, hard biceps flexing, and looks down at me with a crooked, cocky smirk. “You look spent.”
I wet my lips, liking the way his eyes drop to my mouth to watch my tongue sweep out. “It’s been a big day.”
“Do you want to go to sleep?”
“Uh.” I glance around the room. It’s dark and probably not unreasonable to turn in, but it seems like the wrong thing to say after what just happened. “I don’t know?”
His blue eyes sparkle with understanding, and he kisses the tip of my nose. “Do you want me to go?”
“No!” I blush at my vehemence and try again. “I mean, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to, so I guess we’ll have a sleepover.” He gives me one last kiss before pushing up and away. “Just give me a minute to change. I’ll be right back.”
Chord slips away, and I take the opportunity to use the bathroom. I clean up a little, brush my teeth, and run a comb through my hair, but no amount of cold water splashed over my cheeks can erase the pink glow of satisfaction. I ball up my damp lingerie and toss it into the hamper, then wrap myself in a towel and dash to the walk-in closet to pick out another set. But after sorting through my extensive collection, nothing feels right. My body is loose and sluggish, and I kind of want to sleep like that too. All curled up under the covers, Chord’s arms around my body, snuggled up in something oversized and comfortable.
I screw up my nose at the old, stained sweats I packed for these kinds of nights. I can’t bring myself to wear them in front of Chord.
I’m still in the closet, wearing nothing but a pair of white cotton briefs, when I hear Chord enter the room.
“You didn’t run away, did you?” he calls.
I laugh and poke my head around the closet door. “No. I’m here. I’m just looking for something to wear to bed. After… that… I feel like sleeping in something a little more comfortable than my, uh, underwear.”
“And you don’t have pajamas?”
“Not in the traditional sense, no.”
Chord frowns in thought, then grins. “Be right back.”
He darts away again, and I wonder what he’s up to as I hold my old tracksuit pants up to triple-check the tear in the bottom and the stain on the knee.
Nope. I can’t do it.
“I’ve got something for you,” Chord calls from just outside the door.
I startle and cover my bare breasts with one arm, though he doesn’t try to come in, and thrust my other hand through the half-open door while wiggling my fingers.
Chord chuckles as he puts something soft in my grip. “Here you go, Wallflower. See how you feel in that.”
It’s clear at first sight what he’s given me. It’s a hockey jersey—and an old one, by the feel of it. I stretch it out, running my fingers over the colors of the Tampa Bay Titans, turning to see Chord’s name and number on the back.
With a little shiver, I slip the shirt over my head and let it fall over my skin. I’m tall, but Chord is much taller, and his shirt is large enough that I feel small inside it. I lift the collar to my nose and inhale. And then, feeling a little self-conscious, I step out of the closet.
Chord sits on the end of the bed, dressed now in cotton shorts and nothing else, and his muscled frame, hard jaw, and dark mop of hair make it impossible to maintain a steady breath. Hiselbows are on his knees as he stares into the distance, but he straightens as soon as I appear, and the expression on his face is a million kinds of validating.
“It suits you,” he croaks, then clears his throat and gets to his feet, closing the distance and turning me around with two gentle hands on my shoulders. He sweeps the hair off my neck and carefully arranges it to one side before he’s silent for a moment.
“It suits youverywell.” His breath on my skin makes me shiver before his mouth meets the curve of my neck. “My name on your back…” His tongue sweeps out between his lips like he’s tasting me. “It almost has me rethinking my decision to let you rest.”
Warmth pools in my cheeks and the cleft of my thighs as I glance over my shoulder. Chord looks hungry. Like he really does want to make me come all over again. I’d probably let him, but before I can say something bold and out of character, he picks up my hand, leads me to the bed, and pulls back the covers.
I slip inside and he pulls the linens up over my body before he walks around and gets in beside me. Chord sprawls out on his back, scoops me against his side, and I settle against the firm warm plane of his chest, wrapped in his warmth, his scent, and his strength.
Safe.
I open my eyes to a bedroom flooded with warm, sweet sunlight and indulge in a long full-body stretch. It’s much later than I’d normally sleep on a Tuesday morning—I can tell by the way the light angles through the tall glass windows—but there’s a reason for it. I’ve never slept that well in my life. So deeply and so soundly with so little worries. Never.
