Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
HAVEN
I can’t decide if I thought it was all just a dream, or if I figured he’d take off after I fell asleep even though he told me he’d stay.
Whichever it was, I’m shocked when I wake up with Dallas’s arms wrapped around me, holding me tightly to his chest. My throat is still sore, and the first thing I want to do is cough.
But the body aches seem to be gone, and now, I just feel run down.
It’s a shock enough that he’s here—in my bed.
But when I feel something hard pressing against my ass cheek, my eyes must widen to the size of saucers.
I’ve seen him in wet swimming trunks enough to know he’s a big guy, and the time I saw him showering …
it was even more clear that he was blessed.
But physically feeling his dick against my body really puts it into perspective.
And sick or not, it creates a deep ache within me.
An ache that begins and ends right between my thighs.
Obviously, it’s just his morning wood and not because I’m close to him, but I’ve crushed on this man for so long that of course feeling him being rock hard against me is going to make me a little wild. Sick or not, I’m still a bitch with needs.
Within a minute or two, he’s stirring awake. Right away, he must know how hard he is, because he scootches himself back from me, releasing his hold on my body.
For the first time since we’ve known each other, I find myself not wanting to further embarrass him. So instead of letting him know I’ve been awake, I act like I’m just waking up. As if I never felt his peen against my ass and that I’m not imagining having said peen inside me.
Yawning, I roll onto my back, looking up at the ceiling and rubbing my face. Eventually, I dare to glance his way.
“You stayed,” I say, flashing him a teensy smile.
“Told you I would,” he utters, rather gruffly, but I hear the smile in his voice.
“Well, thank you. I’m sure that wasn’t much fun because I probably coughed all night.”
“It was the snoring that kept me up, Short,” he drawls, his lip tipping up.
“I don’t snore,” I say quickly, wanting to change the subject because even though I don’t think I snore, I’m beginning to wonder if I actually do and he’s not just trying to embarrass me.
“You do,” he tosses back, stretching his hands over his head before he brings one of them to my forehead. “Your fever broke.”
“Thank God for that,” I grumble.
As if he’s now satisfied that I’m fever free and totally fine, he slowly scoots off the bed, keeping himself turned away from me when he gets up.
He wears the same sweatpants as last night, and I pretend not to know that he’s keeping his back to me, likely to hide the bulge that would be showing through.
Grabbing his sweatshirt off the floor, he turns toward me, keeping it draped in front of him nonchalantly.
I could leave him alone about it. I really should leave him alone. But the longer he stands here, and I know he’s getting ready to leave, the deeper my smirk grows.
“What’s with the hoodie, QB?” I ask, my voice still gruff from being sick. I jerk my chin toward it. “You hiding something?”
Looking down quickly, his hardened gaze then sweeps back to mine. “Nope,” he grumbles.
I lift a brow playfully. “You sure about that, big guy?”
He looks half mad, half amused, and after a moment, he exhales and rolls his eyes.
“I have to get a workout in before class. Make sure you take your medicine every four hours today, and try to eat something.” He backs away, sweatshirt still hanging over his crotch. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”
I continue grinning at him like a fool before eventually, I hold out a thumbs up.
“You got it, boss,” I sass. “Thanks for the sleepover.”
Now I’m just trying to make him uncomfortable. It works too, because he almost trips.
“It wasn’t a sleepover, Short,” he says sharply. “Not that kind, anyway.”
I yawn, knowing that, aside from showering today, I’m not going to be up for doing shit. Holding my hand up, I wave goodbye.
“See you later,” I attempt to singsong. And then, he’s gone.
And even though I want to lie here in this bed, daydreaming about the fact that Dallas Rivers stayed with me in my bed last night, I don’t. I don’t because he doesn’t look at me the way I want him to. So instead, I get my ass up and head to the shower.
Because if he really does come back, you’re damn right I’m going to be clean.
You know … just in case.
DALLAS
I rush out of The Nest and to The Tower before anyone has a chance to see me.
I keep my sweatshirt hung in front of my crotch, trying to hide the fact that my dick will not fucking go down.
The second I woke up this morning and felt it pressing against Haven’s ass, I panicked.
I thought I got out of there without her knowing too.
But then she teased me before I made it out, and now I’m convinced she knew I had a fucking hard-on.
I wake up with one nine times out of ten, but that’s like … a half chub. This was full on, ready to go, hard as steel and pressed right against my childhood friend’s ass.
Not a good look.
I rush into the bathroom, thankful as fuck that no one is out to ask me where I’ve been. I know I’m going to go get sweaty working out, but I don’t give a fuck. I need to take a shower so that I can go about my day without my dick standing up straight.
Closing the door behind me, I turn on the shower and strip.
Last night, I stayed in a bed with Haven King—my best friend’s sister.
I don’t know why I couldn’t bring myself to leave; all I know is, I couldn’t.
And there was something about caring for her that gave me a weird high.
I can’t explain it, and I’m sure if I tried to, I’d sound like a psychopath.
Either way, before I go about my day … I need to make my cock go down. And the only way to do that is to fuck my hand while thinking about Haven and her goddamn popsicle.
Stepping into the shower, I wrap my hand around my dick and squeeze my eyes shut.
Yep … that’ll do it.