27. Blake
BLAKE
The tinkle of broken porcelain as I sweep the broken mug into the pan fills my ears. Hitting those original tiles had meant the mug was never going to survive.
Last night had been my biggest ever test in acting.
How I’d pretended to be asleep while Aspen was getting herself off right next to me, I’ll never know. Someone should be handing me a fucking Oscar.
I could have rolled her over, yanked down her panties, and fucked her there and then, but then the game would be over. How would Levi have reacted? He’d have been seriously pissed. I know he wants her, and, if I just took her, it would change everything.
Aspen would probably have a case of a guilty conscience, because of the boyfriend back home. She might convince herself that she needs to leave, and then our hand would be forced. I don’t want that to happen. I’m enjoying having her around this place. It does get lonely here from time to time.
I finish sweeping up the mug then mop up the remainder of the milk.
I’m going to be using last night as plenty of fantasy fodder from now on.
Even thinking about her touching herself beside me is enough to make me hard.
I remember her tiny breaths, the shaking of the bed, the way her body had tensed as she’d come.
She’d been so careful to take my hand off her breast and tuck the covers back up around her shoulders, as though nothing had happened.
She’d been asleep within a minute. She’d obviously needed the release.
When I finish cleaning up the spilled milk and broken mug, I pick up the little stick doll and tuck it into my back pocket. I’ll have to have a word with him about them. They’re obviously spooking her. But it means he must like her for him to keep giving them to her, and that’s a good thing.
“What are you doing?”
I jump at Levi’s voice. Looks like Aspen isn’t the only one getting spooked.
“Nothing. Just cleaning up.”
“What happened?”
“Aspen broke a cup, that’s all. No big deal.”
He arches an eyebrow. “And you’re cleaning up after her? What are you, her fucking maid?”
“She’s still sleeping,” I say.
Instantly, I regret my words. Levi is sharp—sometimes too sharp for his own good—and he’s going to question that.
“How would you know that she’s still sleeping?”
“Lucky guess,” I throw back at him.
His blue gaze flicks to the pan. “And if she’s still sleeping, how did she manage to break a mug?”
“It happened last night.” I might as well tell the truth, or at least part of it.
“Why were you together last night?”
He’s not letting it drop.
“She couldn’t sleep and she wanted some warm milk. I heard her break the mug and came down to check she was all right.”
He smirks, his dimples showing. “And then you helped her back to sleep?”
“I stayed with her, that’s all. She was scared.”
He shakes his head at me. “Don’t go getting feelings for that girl. I told you it wasn’t a good idea bringing someone you already have a connection with back here for the winter. It won’t end well.”
I grit my teeth. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
He gives one final shake of his head and walks away, leaving me to clean up the final shards of broken porcelain.
I draw a breath and slowly blow it out. I’m going to need to avoid Aspen for a while, at least until I can get the sensation of her hard little nipple against my palm out of my head.
That I now know what she sounds like when she comes is going to torment me.
I’m not going to be able to look at her without thinking about it, without wondering how loud she would have been if she hadn’t been trying not to wake me.
After I was certain she’d fallen asleep, I’d carefully picked up the hand that had been in her panties and brought her fingers to my nose. I’d inhaled the scent of her pussy then parted my lips and placed her fingers on my tongue.
I’d been rock hard then, ready to explode. I’d been tempted to pull down the bedcovers and spread her thighs and bury my face between them so I could get a proper taste of her, all wet and musky from her orgasm, but, just as she hadn’t wanted to wake me, I hadn’t wanted to wake her either.
As much as I’d wanted to spend all night with her, I’d slipped from her bed and returned to my own room. I’d fisted my cock and masturbated over the memory of what had happened, the taste of her pussy still on my tongue.
Will she be feeling guilty about what she did? Maybe she’ll be avoiding me, too?
It could be for the best. Things feel like they’re dangerously close to getting out of control.