22. Katie
Katie
Iwake up to a blue screen glowing from the TV. Everything else in the house is dark and quiet. I have no clue what time it is. I’m still stretched out in Michael’s lap, and my left arm—currently pinned under his very muscular thigh—is completely dead, and then I hear it.
Mr. I Wear Five Thousand Dollar Suits is asleep on my couch, snoring loudly. One of his hands is tangled in my hair, the other heavy on my back, and when I try to move, his legs lock around me like a damn trap.
Absolutely not.
“What the fuck, dude?”
He shifts under me.
“Michael. Wake the fuck up.”
“What?”
He jerks upright, and my head slams into the couch.
“Shit.”
“Oh my God,” he says, already reaching for me, hand gentle against the back of my head.
I push him off and sit up.
“I’m fine. Let’s go to bed. We both fell asleep.”
I stand and reach for him. He looks half asleep, but his hand finds mine, anyway. I pull him down the hall.
He sinks onto the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes, completely out of it. I grab the nightgown he bought me and slip into the bathroom. When I come back, he hasn’t moved an inch.
“Hey, old man. You alright?”
I step between his knees and lift his chin, forcing his eyes to mine. He is so tired.
“You need to go brush your teeth,” I say, my fingers lingering on his cheek.
“Yes, ma’am.” He takes my wrist and kisses the inside of it.
“You snore.”
“I do not.”
“I know it’s been a while since you’ve had a woman in your bed, but you absolutely do.”
He narrows his eyes. “So what’s that mean? You making me sleep on the couch?”
I lean into him, and his hands settle on my hips. “No. I just have to make sure I fall asleep before you.”
Then I kiss him.
He smiles into my mouth. “Ass.”
I step back.
“Go brush your teeth and come kiss me in my bed.”
“Whatever you want,” he says.
I watch him disappear into the ensuite before climbing into bed and pulling the covers up around me. For the second night in a row, I get to fall asleep next to a strong, massive, extremely attractive man.
He comes out with no shirt on, only his boxers, and my brain immediately tells my face to act normal. He climbs in beside me and wastes no time. One hand finds the back of my neck while the other pulls me closer. His kiss is hot, slow, and I feel it exactly where I shouldn’t—between my legs.
“Katie,” he murmurs, his breath ragged against my ear.
“Mm-hmm.”
His lips claim mine once more, before he eases back enough to meet my eyes.
“I want to fuck you.”
“I know,” I whisper, leaning in to capture his mouth again. Our tongues tangle, slick and insistent, as his fingers slip beneath the hem of my nightgown.
They trace up my skin, finding my breast. A gasp escapes me when he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the pinch sending sparks racing through me.
“Michael,” I breathe.
“Hmm,” he hums, his lips trailing fire down the curve of my neck.
“I want you to fuck me,” I confess, my voice husky. “Just, not yet.”
“Do you want me to stop?"
“No,” I say. “But I need you to.”
His hand slides out of my nightgown and grips my side, his palm covering nearly my entire rib cage, fingers spread wide. His forehead rests against my temple. We’re both breathing hard.
“Can we just kiss?” I sound like a fucking teenager.
His hand tightens around me, while his other hand lifts to my face, tracing along my jaw before kissing me.
It’s softer this time, holding himself back.
I inch closer and wrap my arms around his neck.
He gathers me with both hands and drags me against him.
It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t been with a woman in two years. This man knows exactly what he’s doing.
I feel his cock hard against me, and it takes everything in me not to reach down between us and touch it. I could wrap my hand around it. Stroke it for him. He’s holding back because I asked him to. If I did that, I know there’d be no turning back.
So I keep kissing him instead. I let his hands roam down my back, fingers tracing the curve of my spine through the thin fabric of my nightgown.
The wetness between my thighs soaks through my panties, but I push it aside, focusing on the way his lips feel on mine and the way he holds me like he doesn’t want to let go.
A loud vibration cuts through everything.
“Dammit,” he growls into my mouth.
“We probably needed something to stop us anyway,” I say as his phone goes off again on the nightstand.
He groans and rolls away, grabbing it.
“Yeah,” he says, clearly irritated.
He gets up, phone pressed to his ear.
He looks back at me, covering the receiver. “I’ll be right back, Doll.”
“Okay.”
I sit up against the headboard as soon as he leaves the room, reaching for my phone. It’s almost midnight. Who is calling him this late? Especially on a Sunday. He’ll say it’s work, but that doesn’t make sense. Not really.
I scroll absently, my thoughts growing louder the longer I sit here. Did he really end his engagement? And why did I not question that more?
Cool, you ended your engagement—come over and sleep in my bed and feel me up. Totally normal behavior. No red flags. I drop my head back against the wall.
What is actually wrong with me?
“Hey,” Michael says as he walks back in. “You didn’t need to stay awake.”
“I wasn’t, I was—“ I glance at my phone. “Scrolling. Very important.”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “Mm.”
“What took you so long?”
“Shit at work.”
I squint at him as he climbs back into bed. “You keep saying that.”
He looks at me.
“I’m just saying,” I add, shifting onto my side, “what kind of job has people calling you this late on a Sunday?”