5. Heather
HEATHER
I’ve been awake for hours. Of course I have.
Because Dean Walker had the audacity to tell me the eggnog-induced kiss wasn’t a mistake right before he dropped into a damn coma.
Every follow-up question I’ve had since he uttered those words has been racing through my mind for the better part of three hours.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that confession?
I want to be mad at him, but how can I be? Isn’t this what I’ve always wanted? For the cute boy I had a ridiculously large crush on since I was fifteen to see me as more than just his little sister’s best friend?
But did he mean it? Or was he just exhausted and unaware of what he said?
I’m frustrated, but I can’t hang onto that emotion long enough to truly be upset.
Every time I try, I just picture Dean sitting at the kitchen table, looking as though he’d been whipped around in a tornado right before he got run over by a bus.
I’ve always viewed him as heroic for being a firefighter, but I never really thought about what he went through after the fire was extinguished.
Is it stupid that I want to be the one he comes home after a long, hard day?
The one who takes care of him the same way he took care of me after that disaster date from hell?
I could learn to cook more than spaghetti.
And, if not, well, at least I’d have a professional firefighter on standby to keep me from burning down the kitchen.
Ugh, I wish I knew if he meant what he said. Because if he was being honest, that would mean my entire interpretation of our first kiss is all wrong. Maybe what I perceived as his rejection in the garage that night was really just surprise.
The mortified expression he wore is burned into my brain, making a hard counterargument, however.
“Helluva way to show surprise if that’s what it was,” I mumble to Aries as I stroke him softly. Like his dad, he’s also out cold.
“What?” Dean mumbles.
“Nothing, go back to sleep.”
“Mkay.” He turns, snaking an arm around me, ensnaring me in his hold as he spoons me.
I should fight this until I know if his earlier words bore any truth.
A decent person would shimmy out of his grasp so he doesn’t wake all the way up with that same mortified slash surprised expression on his face.
I don’t think I could take seeing it a second time.
But dammit, he’s so warm.
Warm and…hard.
Hot coils in my belly.
I shouldn’t be able to tell he’s missing his towel considering the man’s sleeping on top of the comforter and I’m sleeping under it. But that rod of steel pressed against my lower back is hard to misinterpret despite the thick blanket.
He nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck, his warm breath heating my skin. Dammit, this is nice. I’m too comfortable to crawl out of his hold now. Too…turned on.
“Dean?” I whisper his name, not wanting to wake him if he’s out again, but hoping he hasn’t fallen back into that coma.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
A tingle zings through my entire body at the pet name, which is just ridiculous because I have no idea if it’s really meant for me.
Maybe he thinks there’s just another woman in his bed to keep him warm.
Dammit, how do I know that the man isn’t seeing someone else?
I’ve been so intent on avoiding him that I have no clue what’s going on in his life right now or who else might be in it.
“Who are you calling sweetheart?” I ask, hoping it sounds like I’m teasing him. Hoping he can’t detect the panic or jealousy in my tone.
“You.”
“Who is you?”
“Heather Giles. The woman in my arms.”
“Oh,” I say, my nipples pebbling instantly at the declaration that sounds a whole lot less groggy than anything he’s said before now. “Just wanted to make sure you were of sound mind, or this might be really awkward.”
“I don’t let just anyone in my bed, Heather.”
Fuck me, those words fill me with molten heat. Wetness dampens my panties, and I squeeze my thighs tight. But it’s no help. The other thing that’ll relieve this pressure now is the man who’s holding me.
“I never thanked you,” Dean says.
“It was just spaghetti, Dean. I’m just happy it was edible.”
“I meant for you staying with me.”
“Oh. Well, you’re welcome?”
“Is that a question,” he teases, his lips brushing against my skin. Was that a kiss or just the movement of his mouth as he spoke?
“I just didn’t think it was a big deal is all,” I say, my eyes falling closed as his palm flattens against my chest. His thumb strokes slow half circles, the tip of it just below my breasts.
Breasts that I set free after he fell asleep.
I thought I’d have time to put my bra back on before he woke up.
Same goes for the leggings currently piled up on the floor. Oops.
“It is a big deal to me,” he says. “So tell me. How can I repay you?”
“You don’t have to repay me.”
“I want to.” When he presses his mouth to the hollow spot on my neck, there’s no mistaking the sensation this time. It’s a deliberate kiss. “I’ll do anything you want me to, Heather. So let me.”
“Anything?” I squeak.
“As long as you tell me what to do, I’ll do it.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, wondering if this is totally stupid. What if I tell him to give me the Big O and he runs away mortified that I dared suggest such a thing? There’s a giant dick pressed against your back, silly woman.
“Touch me?”
“Touch you where?” his words are a low, heated growl that makes my belly quiver with want.
“One hand under my shirt,” I say, testing the waters.
He slides one hand beneath the hem of my shirt, placing it in the center of my torso.
“Slide it up,” I say, catching a blur of orange fur leap from the bed just as Dean does as directed. His fingers graze the bottom of my breast. “I want your hand full of my tit.”
“Fuck,” he grunts, grabbing my breast and kneading it.
I whimper at the touch I’ve craved for an embarrassingly long time.
Even when I was dating other guys or Dean had a girlfriend, it was always his touch I wanted more than anything.
I’m still not convinced this is reality, but if I’m dreaming, I’ll throat punch the person stupid enough to wake me up.
“Put your other hand inside my panties,” I say on a moan.
He’s slow about it, dipping his fingers beneath the hem with agonizing leisure. I arch my hips into his touch, desperate to feel the pressure of his touch.
“Touch my pussy,” I pant.
“Gladly.” His fingers slide into my wet valley, that delicious friction nearly undoing me in the first two seconds.
“Do I make you this wet, sweetheart?” he whispers against my ear.
“I think that answer’s obvious. But if you want to know for sure, then put a finger inside me and find out.”
His middle finger plunges into my wet channel, his palm grinding against my clit.
“Kiss me,” I plead.
The combination of his mouth on mine, one hand squeezing my breast, and the other gyrating against my mound is almost too much to take. But when Dean slides a second finger into my channel, I’m done for. I reach behind me, gripping his cock tight as I come apart.
“Fuck, Heather,” he groans, quickening the pace of his hand between my legs.
I see stars behind my eyes as my hips arch off the bed. He swallows my cries with his greedy mouth. Warm liquid coats my hand as he groans. A wicked part of me is so fucking pleased I made him come with me. If I had any doubts that he thought the kiss was a mistake, they’ve now been eradicated.