8. Chapter 8 Scott
Chapter 8: Scott
F uck.
She was asleep, snoring softly, her head resting dangerously close to my dick, which was hard as fucking steel and twitching like it had a mind of its own. Every breath she took made her lips brush against my thigh through my jeans. I gritted my teeth, trying not to think about how easy it would be to shift her just a little, let her mouth slide over my zipper—
Jesus Christ, get it together.
The hoodie she was wearing had ridden up, exposing the soft curve of her stomach, and I could just make out the fullness of her breasts beneath the material. They shifted with each breath, heavy and perfect. I had always been a sucker for a full bodied woman, and Bree?
She was made for me. Curves in all the right places. A body that begged to be worshipped.
I dragged a hand over my face, trying to will my dick into submission and not fantasize about bending over every surface in this goddamn cabin.
But fuck me, it was getting hard.
Carefully, I started to detangle myself from her. Her arm had slid around my waist at some point, her fingers gripping the hem of my shirt. As I shifted, she murmured something in her sleep and snuggled closer, pressing those soft curves against my side.
I nearly groaned out loud.
Worse, the scent of her arousal drifted up, faint but unmistakable. That warm, sweet smell that made my blood rush south. My dick throbbed, and I had to close my eyes, grit my teeth against the need clawing at me.
She was turned on. In her sleep. Because of me? Or was she dreaming about someone else?
The possessive snarl that rose in my chest took me by surprise.
I slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her easily. She was soft in my arms, her body molding into mine. My heart hammered as I carried her to the spare room, her room now. I nudged the door open with my foot, pulled the blankets back, and eased her down onto the mattress.
She stirred, eyes fluttering briefly, but didn’t wake. Her fingers, though, didn’t let go of my shirt. Her legs shifted, tangling with mine, and before I could stop myself, I gave in and slid in beside her, pulling the blankets over us.
Her body curled against me naturally, like she’d always been meant to fit there. Her thigh pressed between mine, her breasts brushing against my chest. My arm slipped around her waist, fingers resting on the curve of her hip.
I knew I was a bastard for this. Lying there, holding her when she had no idea. Taking comfort in her softness.
But I needed it. Just this once.
I let my hand trail down the length of her body, slowly, from her hip to her thigh, back up to her waist. I stopped short of her breasts, but my fingers twitched with the urge to touch their heaviness. She shifted against me, pressing closer, and I bit back a groan.
“Bree,” I murmured into her hair, my voice rough. “Sweet girl”
She sighed in her sleep, and my chest tightened.
I let my mind wander. I had pictured this every night when I was deployed. Bree in my bed. Her belly swollen with my child. My ring on her finger. Her laughter filling this cabin.
A future I had no right to want, but God help me, I wanted it.
I pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in. “Just once,” I whispered to myself. “Let me have this. Just once.”
I held her tighter and closed my eyes, knowing I was already too far gone.