Chapter 4 #3
My shorts and shirt clung to me, and my hair was wrapped in a towel, but it was a short distance to the bedroom.
I swung the bathroom door open just as the office door flung wide, and Van veered out with his brow creased.
He stopped when he spotted me, and his expression went blank.
His intense gaze traveled down to my bare feet, then back up, lingering on my bare legs.
I had my clothing hugged to my chest. Please let my nipples be covered. The AC wafted over my skin, and goose bumps dotted my arms from the chill.
“Excuse me,” he mumbled and continued down the hall to the kitchen.
The hallway brightened when he turned into the kitchen as if his wide shoulders had blocked out the light. I looked down at my pale-green-tipped toenails. I had wanted them to match the lighter green leaves of my wedding dress. A nod to my name. I’d admire them if no one else did.
In the bedroom, I put my clothes in the laundry basket, draped my damp towel on top, and crawled between the covers. The door was closed, and I wouldn’t wonder what Van was doing. Fresh sheets, a new bed, my clean body—I should sink right into sleep.
For several long minutes, I tossed and turned. Nerves made it too hot. Then too cold. Then too…small. Van would be coming to bed soon, and then what?
Oh! The pillow fort.
I had my body pillow, and I lined my two extra pillows down the middle. There. Now I’d be able to sleep.
No luck.
Eventually, I dozed off only to be awakened when the door cracked open. I stayed still and listened as he quietly moved around the room. He hadn’t unpacked his clothing yet, but the zipper of his luggage was loud in the quiet. Then he crept to the bathroom.
I remained frozen until he returned. I sensed him moving around until he approached his side of the bed. My heart rate increased, the thuds hitting harder, and he paused.
What was he waiting for? Was he going to go to the living room?
The bedding shifted when he pulled back his corner, and the mattress dipped under his weight.
He slid in next to me. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed my breathing to stay steady.
I was in bed with a guy I barely knew, but I wasn’t scared.
My stomach fluttered wildly, like I was walking through one of the many pastures around the house, disturbing all the butterflies and cabbage moths, watching more take flight with each step.
No noise filled the room but our breathing. Slowly, the tension leaked out of me, and my eyelids grew heavy. The weight next to me was more comforting than I expected, and I drifted off to sleep.
Van
Pink lips curved in a sexy grin, and heavy-lidded hazel eyes met mine. Her lush hips rolled and rocked. Lust pounded through my blood, circulating through my cock, bringing a fresh supply of need with each pump of my heart.
Ride me.
I was on my back, and she was leaning over me, taking all of me inside her so perfectly.
Fuck me. I was going to come. I was going to—
My eyelids flew open. Where the hell am I? My hips thrust up like my pelvis had its own brain. My chest was heaving, and my pulse pounded in my dick.
Shit. Was I having a wet dream?
I rolled up and swung my legs over the bed. My erection protested at the bend of my body.
A little sigh came from behind me, and the bed shifted.
My circumstances poured into my awareness. I was in bed with a woman. My wife. Clover Duke. My platonic wife. Yet here I was with a pounding erection, humping the sheets. Shame and panic filled me to overflowing.
I glanced over my shoulder to check if she was awake. Bad decision.
She’d tossed the covers off in her sleep, and a strip of creamy flesh was revealed on her abdomen.
The round globes of her tits pressed against the fabric, and the way her legs were cocked made her shorts ride up to the crease of her curvy thighs.
Brunette strands of her hair draped over her pillow, silky and shiny.
What if we were real? I’d lie back down, roll over, and move those damn pillows. She’d have a sleepy smile, and I’d push that shirt up the rest of the way. The shorts would be next and I’d—
No.
After I stood, I grabbed my clothing and put it in front of my obnoxious dick. She couldn’t catch me. I would not make her uncomfortable about this arrangement. Awkward or not, the bed was better than the couch for both of us.
I shuffled out of the bedroom, hoping I didn’t wake her.
When I got to the bathroom, I flipped the shower on and stripped out of my shorts and T-shirt.
The cold slammed into me, but it was only a suggestion for my hard-on to calm down.
My skin tightened, and I waited as the seconds ticked by.
Satiny skin flashed through my head. She’d be so soft.
With a groan, I fisted myself and turned the water temperature to warm.
I had to have some other images in my spank bank. Dark hair long enough to wrap around my fist.
That was Clover.
Those legs. Spread apart with me sinking between them.
Damn. Clover too.
My shaft didn’t care. I came with a series of grunts I couldn’t keep quiet.
Please let her be a deep sleeper. I didn’t want to be the creep she married that jacked off in the shower after our first night together.
I propped a hand on the shower wall and struggled to get my breathing under control.
What was that?
I had no answer as I finished cleaning up.
What I did was nothing but physical relief.
Like a workout, which I’d been lax on. Nothing more.
Once I was dried off and dressed, I left the bathroom.
Clover was still in bed, under rumpled covers, with her mass of hair covering her face.
Relieved I didn’t get busted, I went to the kitchen.
My stomach squeezed and made noises similar to me in the shower. I skipped dinner last night, wrapped up in catching up on the work I’d missed. Clover grabbed groceries yesterday, but I’d been an ass and insisted we eat separately. I did not get groceries.
I let the fridge fall shut. None of the food was mine.
Clover trudged into the kitchen, blinking her big, sleepy eyes. A fluffy robe encased her down to her shins, but her cute, green-tipped toes were on display. How could one woman be so sexy and adorable at the same time?
“Find anything good?” Her voice was husky, and my erection threatened to return.
I shook my head. “I have to get some food first. I’ll get out of your way.”
“You can take whatever I have and get the next round of groceries.” She hugged herself and looked everywhere but at me. “I mean, if that’s easier. I know you want to keep everything separate.”
Maybe it was my morning masturbation session while she slumbered, or that this was the first day of the next three months of living together.
We didn’t have to be miserable. She wasn’t my enemy.
I didn’t agree with her taste in men, but then I didn’t have the most stellar luck picking women.
We had a common denominator when it came to that.
“You like eggs?” I asked.
A green tint glossed over her face. “Not in the morning. Carbs are the best. I was going to make some pancakes.”
“What about sausage?”
“That I can handle.”
“I’ll make pancakes and sausage while you get dressed.”
She didn’t move. “It’s no problem.”
“I’m used to making myself something every morning. Really, it’s fine. I didn’t run this morning, so I feel like I need to do something before I sit behind my desk.” I had done something, but I refused to think about it.
“Oh. Okay.” Finally, she started to spin around.
“Clover?” When she turned back to me, my determination grew. I wasn’t my brother. I was better than him. “We can take turns cooking and getting groceries.”
She tugged at the lapels of her robe. “I can eat in the living room. Or outside while it’s still nice.”
I was a jackass. She was trying to make me comfortable. No wonder Elijah latched on to her. She catered to him, made him feel important, and he probably took advantage of it.
“I won’t take it as a sign of your undying love for me if we eat together. Promise.”
Her lips twitched. “I was more worried that you bite.”
“Sometimes.”
An undercurrent of electricity crackled between us, but she laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll be gone a few days next week for training. You gonna be okay?”
“Mm…you might have to cook ahead so you don’t miss your share of the duties.”
She nodded matter-of-factly.
“Jesus, Clover. I’m kidding. I’m a big boy, and you’re not meal prepping while my ass is at home.”
Shame flickered in her eyes, but she extinguished it. “Then I won’t expect to find an emaciated skeleton at your desk when I return.”
I patted my stomach. “Healthy as a well-fed horse.”
“Okay.” Her smile was almost shy, and it burrowed into my chest wall before she left the kitchen.
T minus eighty-eight days.