Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
CHASSIS
I’m not sure what time Dare slips back inside the house. I hauled my tired ass to bed a few hours after dinner and dessert. I fell asleep easily, but now I’m wide awake. The sun isn’t shining through the side of the window the way it does when it’s daylight. Which means it’s probably dark.
Reaching for my phone, I pick it up and check the time. It’s three in the morning. Sitting up, I slide my legs over the side of the bed and force myself to stand. I take one step, then another.
Then I stop.
My legs tremble before I lift my hand to my forehead, a dizzying sensation consuming me. I stood up too fast. I’ve never been like this before, but pregnancy has been doing some crazy things.
Slowly, I move toward the bathroom. I’ve never had to pee so much in my life. I’ve seen movies and things where women complained about needing to go to the bathroom all the time, and boy, they did not lie.
After washing my hands, I start to shuffle back to bed when I hear a noise that sounds like it’s coming from the living room. I stop, my breathing comes out in shallow pants as I try to listen and make out what exactly I’m hearing.
Then I remember that Dare’s here. I begin to breathe normally but don’t go back to bed. I stay where I am in the middle of the bedroom and debate whether I should go out to check on him or head back to my warm bed.
Clearing my throat, I debate for another minute, then I decide to just go for it. My feet move through the house, and I stop at the sight in front of me the moment I step into the living room.
The television is on, the blue light glowing against his skin. The way it highlights his muscles is almost orgasmic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. There Dare is, his body sprawled out on the sofa.
He’s got one arm over his eyes, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. My god. His chest is huge. His muscles are the biggest I’ve ever seen. The black lines decorating his arms do absolutely nothing to distract from the size of them.
Every single part of this man is lickable. My gaze travels down his chest to his abs that almost send me spiraling, but then I chance peering down to his hips, and my breathing stops. I should not be looking at his package neatly tucked beneath his snug boxer briefs.
Then my gaze continues to his thighs, and I have to press my own together. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never wanted a man like this before, but I want him. I want my husband, and I’m finding the whole thing very interesting. That’s the only way I can describe it.
Interesting.
“You gonna stand there and stare at my dick all night, or what?” Dare asks.
His voice causes me to jump. My gaze flicks to his, and then I blink a couple of times. I don’t know what to say or how to respond, because he really did catch me staring at his dick, and there’s nothing I can say to change that or pretend I wasn’t.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
He lets out a sigh and pushes up so he’s sitting on the couch.
I watch as he throws his legs over the side and scrubs his palms up and down his face before he shifts his attention to meet mine.
It’s in this moment that he looks his age.
I know it’s because he’s half asleep, and that half sleeping was done on that sofa.
“I’m trying to sleep but fuckin’ failing,” he grunts.
This is the moment where I should probably turn and walk straight back to bed. But I don’t. I open my mouth, and I say something that I probably shouldn’t. Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out slowly before I speak.
“Come to bed, Dare. There’s no reason for you to sleep on this sofa when there’s a perfectly good bed and I’m only using half.”
He lifts his gaze to meet mine, his eyes widening. “Sweetheart, I don’t think I should be there beside you.”
Taking a step toward him, I reach out my hand, palm up, my gaze never leaving his. “Come on. We’re married. We can sleep in the same bed.”
He shakes his head once, then stands. He doesn’t take my hand, but he does close the distance between us with three short strides. He’s so close to me I can practically taste him.
“I should stay right here on this couch,” he murmurs. “But my back is fuckin’ killing me.”
My lips twitch into a smirk. “Come on, Dare.” I turn away from him and start to head to the bedroom when I feel his fingers curl around my bicep. He squeezes me gently, stopping me from walking away.
Turning my head, I look over my shoulder at him. “We’re married,” he states. I open my mouth to agree, but then he continues, so I snap my lips closed and continue to watch him, waiting for him to continue.
“My name’s Amos.”
I know his name is Amos. I signed the wedding papers and saw the certificate and everything after the wedding, but I’ve never used the name or even thought about it. I know their road names are what they prefer.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard another person call even my own dad by his first name, ever. I don’t say any of that, though. Instead, my lips curve up into a small smile. “Come to bed, Amos.”
And he does.