Chapter Twenty-one
T here’s something hard under my hand, but I’m in that space between sleep and wakefulness where I’m not sure what is a dream and what is reality.
It’s warm, and as I move my hand up, I feel a rough texture, like coarse hair, but I can’t figure out what it is.
It feels good under my fingers, so I keep moving my hand, running my fingertips up and down, finding bumps and valleys to explore.
I’m so warm, cozy even, and I really don’t want to wake up.
Snuggling in deeper, I keep touching, reveling in the new feeling and figuring it’s just a really vivid dream and it can do no harm.
I know my alarm is due to go off any minute, so these last few moments in bed are sacred.
I slept well, better than I have in months, even after the nightmare and being woken by Dean.
Dean.
My eyes spring open. It’s not a figment of my imagination; it’s a real body beside mine.
A real body with rolling abdominals and hair smattered across his chest and trailing from his navel downwards.
It’s not just dips and valleys, it’s the contour of his stomach, the hard work he’s put in to define the muscles into carved marble.
I don’t dare move my body, just my eyes, to find myself resting on that spot between his shoulder and his neck, my hand tracing lines on his stomach and chest, and good fucking lord, he’s only in a towel.
The knot holding it together looks loose, like a slight twist will have the edges falling apart.
Oh God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
The previous night rushes back with clarity. The nightmare, Dean waking me up, him seeing the scars on my hip, me asking him to lie with me.
Oh fuck!
I’m frozen, my hand resting on his sternum, heart pounding inside my chest.
“Easy, Butterfly,” Dean’s rasping morning voice startles me. “It’s okay.”
“Okay!?” I stammer. “How is this okay!?”
But despite the words, despite knowing this is so far from okay, I’m surprised I haven’t been fired already, I don’t move.
“Did you sleep?” He asks instead.
I open my mouth to argue, not expecting that question, and then snap it closed. “Yes,” I eventually answer.
“Then it’s okay,” He says.
Still, I don’t move.
He has his uninjured arm tucked around me, fingers splayed across my ribcage above my T-shirt, and his heart is thumping beneath my ear.
My fingers twitch on his stomach, tracing the dip down the center of his torso, and I feel the muscles quiver.
His breath rushes from him, and the hand resting against me squeezes, the sensation of his fingers pushing into me running something warm through my veins.
My thighs begin to ache, a knot forming in my lower abdomen that makes my core clench.
I tilt my head up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with my eyes before lifting higher, finding his dark eyes already on me.
My fingers curl harder against his abs, scoring his skin with the tips of my nails, and a breath hisses through his teeth, the hand on me tightening even further.
I like the sound, the way he responds, so I do it again, letting my fingers drag down the bumps of his abdominal muscles, and his dark eyes roll closed, head tipping back enough that the muscles in his throat go tight.
I run my hand so low on him, my fingers find the trail of hair at his navel and follow the path until it hits the knot of his towel.
“Sloane,” His voice is all gravel with a hint of warning.
How long has it been since I touched a man like this? Over a year, at least, longer even. I haven’t felt safe with a man since the night I was almost killed, but Dean…
All I want with him is more.
There’s so much danger in that, so much unknown, and still, despite the swirling anxiety and the obvious risk, I keep running headfirst for it. My fingers toy with the knot of his towel, it wouldn’t take much to undo it, and he isn’t moving, he isn’t stopping me.
“Don’t do something you may regret,” He rasps, dark eyes opening once again and immediately finding mine.
“Should I stop?” I whisper.
“That’s the last thing I want you to do, Butterfly,” He declares.
A tremor works through me, and any hesitance leaves with it. I have to start living again, start moving on instead of remaining in a nightmare. What better way to start than riding my boss?
A giggle works out of me at the thought.
“It does nothing for the ego when a woman laughs while undressing a man,” He scolds lightly.
I attempt to flatten my smile, “Sorry.”
“Is this what you want?” He asks earnestly.
I open my mouth to tell him yes, but a loud cry blares through the room, a little staticky but clear, nonetheless.
Shit! Lily!
I’m scrambling from the bed in the next second, any thoughts about fucking my boss gone as I sprint for the door.
I would have been up by now if I hadn’t been distracted by Dean, had a bottle waiting for her.
I don’t usually do the early morning feeds or get her ready for the day, but I’m here to help him, not fuck him!
God! I’m awful.
The door swings open roughly, and I’m across the room in the next blink, reaching into the crib for her.
“Hey sweet girl,” I start to rock her, “It’s okay, are you hungry?”
She continues to cry.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I coo to her, “I’m so sorry.”
I spin to exit the room, finding Dean in the doorway.
He’s dressed in a pair of gray sweats, torso bare, and the bar through his nipple glints in the early morning light.
Not sure I would have ever seen the man having a nipple piercing, but there’s something undeniably sexy about it.
He seems so clean cut, so put together that a nipple piercing looks out of sorts.
He isn’t wearing his glasses, and there’s a lock of hair that sticks up like a horn on one side of his head.
Shit.
There it is again.
Getting distracted by him when I’m here to do a job. I wouldn’t even be mad if he decided to fire me after all.
“I didn’t ask you to stay to be at our beck and call, Sloane,” His voice is soft.
I ignore the statement and step around him, heading for the stairs now that Lily has stopped crying. She still isn’t happy, but as soon as I feed her and get her changed, I’m sure she’ll be the bright little girl she usually is in the morning.
“I should have been up already anyway,” I tell him as I take the stairs. “I never should have let that happen.”
“Which part?” He follows behind me.
“All of it,” I swallow the thickness in my throat. Lies. All lies.
I haven’t slept that well in months, haven’t felt safe enough to do so. Haven’t felt safe enough to even be alone with a man.
“Good to know.” The tone of his voice switches, turning apathetic and flat, and a stabbing feeling twists in my stomach. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt someone else with all this shit ruining me. Dean has his own issues; I don’t need him to worry about mine too.
In the kitchen, I hold Lily cradled in one arm and prepare her bottle in the other, the room silent around me. Beside me, Dean prepares coffee, pulling two mugs down as he works one handed. It’s then that I notice he isn’t wearing his sling.
“Where’s your sling?” I frown, “You’re not supposed to be without it.”
“A few hours a day is fine,” He grumbles.
“Okay well, when did you take it off?”
“Last night.” He places a mug under the nozzle and hits the button to fill it, the strong, aromatic scent of fresh coffee hitting me next.
“Dean!” I scold, “Where is it?”
He ignores me as he pulls the fresh cup from the machine and puts the second mug in to make the next coffee. While that’s brewing, he continues to ignore me as he adds sugar and cream to the drink, sliding it my way.
“Would you mind giving me a hand settling her for her feed?” He asks instead of answering.
“Why?” I snap my head back. “I can do it.”
“You’re off the clock, and it’s our routine,” He snaps back. “Mornings are mine.”
My cheeks fill with heat, “Oh right, yes, of course.”
His shoulders sag. “Sloane, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, you’re right,” I nod my head quickly. “We can do it like we did before.”
But my heart is pounding, and my stomach is twisting. I’ve become too comfortable already, too stuck in my duties. Fuck, this isn’t like me at all.
He sighs loudly, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Just out of curiosity,” I keep my tone purposefully light and breezy, “How would you have done it without me here?”
He gives me a one shoulder shrug, “Would have dealt with it.”
He turns his back to me and strides from the room, his muscles flexing and rolling with every step. So, I pull myself together, pretend the past twelve hours didn’t happen, and I follow him.