25. Aspen #2
I toss the stick figure back on the floor. I don’t want to be touching it anymore. The previous ones seemed almost cute, but this one, in the dead of night, when I’d already been so badly frightened, feels like a threat.
I’m shaking all over and struggling to draw in enough air.
Frustration and fear have me close to tears.
How can I tell him that I feel like someone is watching me all the time, as though the walls have eyes?
I’ll sound like I’m crazy. It’s even worse that this is happening right on the back of me getting lost in the maze.
Perhaps it’s because I’m still unnerved from what happened that I’ve been susceptible to getting spooked again, but it all still makes me seem unhinged.
“Hey, it’s okay. Breathe, Aspen. Breathe.”
He draws me against him and wraps his strong arms around me.
I’m starting to get too used to being held against his broad chest. It’s been so long since I’ve been hugged properly, and it’s becoming one of my favorite places to be.
I inhale the growingly familiar scent of him—I can’t even describe it; it’s just perfectly him—and my shaking subsides.
“I’m okay,” I murmur against his t-shirt. “I’m okay.”
He releases me, though he keeps his hand pressed between my shoulder blades. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
I remember my reason for coming down, the spilled milk and smashed mug. “What about the mess? I need to clean up.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll sort it in the morning.”
Weariness sinks through me. I’m too exhausted to argue. He places his hand to the small of my back, and I allow him to guide me back to my room.
“What were you doing down there in the first place?” he asks as he closes my bedroom door behind us. “Were you just getting a drink?”
“Couldn’t sleep. I thought the warm milk might help, but I think I’ve just made things worse. I’m never going to sleep now.”
“Would it help if I stayed with you?”
His words send a wave of shock through me. Do I want him in my room? Only minutes ago, I’d thought he could be the one screwing with me. Still, at least he’s human, and I’ve been getting really creeped out about things that go bump in the night, so having another person with me might help me sleep.
I gaze up at him. “You’d do that?”
“Sure.”
He pulls back the bedcovers and nods for me to climb in, which I do, first unzipping my hoodie and taking it off, putting it back on the chair where I’d found it. Then he pulls the covers up and tucks them around my shoulders, before lying on top of the sheets beside me.
“You’ll be cold like that,” I say.
He slings one arm behind his head. “Nah, I’ll be fine.”
I roll to my side, my hands curled under my chin—which is my preferred sleeping position—and Blake moves in behind me. He tucks his knees into the space behind mine, and then the weight of his arm finds its way around my waist.
I can barely breathe—not from the weight of his arm, but from his proximity.
I don’t know what I’d imagined when he’d said he’d stay with me, but it’s not this.
If he was aware of any kind of sexual tension between us, he wouldn’t be lying with me in such a way.
He must still see me as a child, the same one he’d bounced on his knee all those years ago, and bought treats for, and chased around the yard.
If he knew the kind of thoughts that have gone through my head since I’ve been here, he’d understand how completely inappropriate it is for him to be holding me like this.
I don’t dare move, terrified any misplaced wriggle might break this moment. Despite my inner turmoil, I love having him this close.
His breathing deepens, and I realize he’s asleep.
I glance down at his hand, slung loosely over my frame.
Carefully, I reach down and touch his fingers then link them with mine.
He doesn’t show any kind of reaction to me touching him.
With my other hand, I lightly tug down the bedcovers covering the front of my body.
I’m wearing only a skimpy camisole, the material thin and silky.
I gently pull his hand higher, so his palm is now covering my breast. My nipple pebbles, hard and sensitive, pressing against the heat of his palm.
I suppress a groan.
I release his fingers and cover the back of his hand with mine, increasing the pressure on my breast.
I want to push his hand between my thighs and ride his fingers.
The thought is incredibly tempting and arousal tingles and tightens in my core.
But I know if I tried, I’d wake him, and also, I wouldn’t do that to him.
He’d probably be horrified at the idea of touching me that way.
This is bad enough, and I know I should stop.
I’m his best friend’s daughter, and he still sees me as the child I once was, not the grown woman I am now.
I’ll have to be content with my own touch there.
I slip my hand underneath the waistband of my pants then move it lower, between my thighs.
I’m already wet from the taboo feeling of his hand on my breast. My fingers are cold, my clit hot.
I rub my clit, tension building in my core.
My stomach and thigh muscles bunch tight.
In my head, it’s Blake touching me. I wish there wasn’t the bedding between us, so I could rub my ass up against his cock, but that would definitely give the game away.
I don’t want him to wake up to me doing that and run horrified from the room.
He might even kick me out of Windridge Hall, and then what would I do?
I’m playing with fire, but I’m not sure how much I care if I get burned. It’s all been too much, the grief, moving here, the weird events. I’m desperate to feel something other than fear, sadness, or anger, even if only for a fleeting moment.
A bang comes from somewhere in the walls—old piping most likely—but I freeze, breath held, in case it wakes Blake. He doesn’t stir, so I carry on.
I squeeze his hand tighter over my breast, my hard nipple pressing into the heat of his palm.
I imagine he’s touching me of his own accord, plucking at my nipple, his mouth against the back of my neck, his cock pressing between my legs.
I remember the glimpse of his size that I’d gotten when I’d caught him in only his towel.
I picture him flipping me onto my stomach and climbing between my thighs.
He’d take me roughly, pressing the head of his huge cock against my entrance, stretching me, and moaning words of encouragement about how well I can take him as he fills me.
My climax comes fast, and I twist my head on my pillow, biting into the soft material to stifle my cries.