Chapter 27 Josephine
Josephine
I’ve replayed his words over and over in my head, searching for a way to pin this predicament on him. I keep coming up short.
Decker wasn’t deceptive. His words weren’t unclear. He said I didn’t have to sleep on the floor. He never offered to give up the bed.
My body thrums with anxiety as I lie only inches from Decker Crusade. Sure, there’s a pillow dam between us, and the bed is technically big enough for two people.
But still.
It doesn’t matter that I can’t see him. I can feel him. Smell him. He’s surrounding me. I swear in the five minutes he was nice to me, he burrowed under my skin and took up residence.
Then there’s the not-so-minor issue of his sleep attire.
Or should I call it a lack of attire?
He’s shirtless. And pantless. The man sleeps in his boxer briefs. Not just any boxer briefs, though. He’s wearing white Calvin Kleins. They’re fitted and made of silky, lightweight fabric that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Fucking imagination.
Because now I’m lying here, restless and, okay, maybe a little horny, trying to squash all fantasies of what it would feel like to have Decker Crusade inside me.
Arrogant. Egotistical. Bossy. I list his lesser qualities and cycle through them in my head, determined to replace my attraction with loathing. I have to hold on tight to my hatred. It’s the only shield I have left tonight.
Reminding myself of my intense dislike of the man lying practically naked mere inches from me, I stretch my legs straight and squeeze my eyes shut, replaying the I Hate Decker Greatest Hits playlist over and over in my mind.
He practically kidnapped me. He’s holding me captive. He dragged me across state lines for his stupid game this weekend. I’m forced to share a bed with him because of his controlling, distrusting attitude.
His heavy sigh hangs between us in warning.
I bristle, knowing damn well he’s about to speak. It doesn’t even matter what he has to say. I’m so keyed up right now, he’s undoubtedly about to set me off.
Too bad he’s not interested in getting me off.
Fuck. No. Bad Joey. Bad girl. Those are not acceptable thoughts.
“I thought the whole point of you sleeping in bed was to prevent you from freaking out,” he growls quietly in the dark.
I don’t dare peek over the pillows piled between us.
“I’m not freaking out,” I squeak.
He scoffs.
And there it is.
His dismissiveness tears through me like a grenade, and I detonate.
“I didn’t tell you any of that so you could use it against me, Cap. I shared something personal, and you’re already throwing it back in my face. For fuck’s sake! Do you have no shame? Are you even human?” I sneer.
“And for the record, this isn’t me freaking out. Believe me. If I was spiraling, you’d fucking know. You’d be calling 9-1-1, or we’d be heading to the hospital. Excuse me if I’m having trouble getting comfortable in a strange place lying next to a man I hardly know but most definitely despise.”
I punctuate my monologue with a huff. My heart’s hammering against my ribcage, and I’m breathing so hard my breasts are straining against the fabric of my T-shirt with each inhale. I have to force myself to loosen my grip on the sheets.
Silence fills the room, followed by the rustling of sheets.
Oh shit.
His silhouette looms over me, and there’s no doubt he’s got those damn onyx eyes locked on me again.
But I don’t dare turn my head to face him.
I study the ceiling and resist meeting his gaze for as long as I can, but he doesn’t back down.
When I finally glance over, he’s propped up on one elbow, eyebrows quirked.
“Are you done?”
I glower at him, all hot and agitated, both mentally and physically.
“Roll over,” he says.
My heart drops to my stomach, and my cunt tingles traitorously. But I make no move to follow his command.
He blows out an exasperated breath and squints at me through the dark. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just do as I say, Josephine. Roll over and lay flat on your stomach.”
My heartbeat thunders with the urge to resist. I should argue, but I’m too flustered to form words.
Except I’m not actually scared of Decker or worried he’ll try to hurt me. He’s had ample opportunity to take advantage of me or put me in a compromising position, but so far, that hasn’t been his MO.
Defeated, and honestly a little curious, I roll over, being sure to keep the covers pulled up to my shoulders.
I jolt when his hand cuffs the back of my neck.
“Shh,” he soothes. “You’re okay.”
He massages the base of my skull, his strong, capable fingers digging into muscles I didn’t even know were tense. My body relaxes as all conscious thought focuses on what he’s doing.
Each squeeze of my neck cuts through another layer of tension. The warmth and power behind his ministrations have me sinking into the sheets as my body winds down little by little.
“That feels really good,” I admit into the pillow. I swear I hear him chuckle, but I’m too comfortable here to look over and confirm my suspicions.
I’m almost embarrassed by how easy it is for him to help me settle, but soon enough, my pulse evens out and my breathing slows. Even as I visibly relax, Decker doesn’t let up. His fingers are magic. Every knead smooths away another knot of the tension wound tight in my neck and shoulders.
The contact is almost too good. As I settle, my mind wanders, and I can’t help but consider what his hands could do to other parts of my body.
The urge to squeeze my thighs together and squirm again prickles in the back of my mind.
The whole point of this was to relax me, but now that I’m putty in his hands, hints of desire tingle up my spine. If I’m not careful, I’ll get all the way worked up again.
“Um, I think I’m good. You can stop now,” I mumble.
He squeezes my neck in response. “Can you just let someone do something nice for you for once?” he grits out. “You need sleep. I need sleep. I’m not stopping until you’re out.”
Of course he’s not. Decker Crusade requires control of all things. So I have no choice but to let him use his magic hands to massage me into a trance. I squirm as I think about the power in his fingers, how it would feel if he dug them into my thighs or kneaded the fleshy part of my ass as he—
“Settle,” he growls, clearly aware of my heightened state.
I inhale slowly, clearing my mind and willing myself to sleep. It takes concerted effort, but the haze of unconsciousness eventually washes over me.
I’m close to unconsciousness when he whispers, so quietly I almost don’t make out the words, “You’re okay, Josephine. You can go back to hating me in the morning, but tonight, I’ve got you.”