Chapter One #2
This was supposed to be relaxing. This bed was supposed to be the comfortable option, and now I have a hard-on rivaling a redwood tree, and I’ve touched Katie’s boob and panties in a matter of minutes.
How the hell am I going to sleep like this?
Ridiculous. This rivalry has gone on long enough.
It’s clear she’s the winner. She wins at least eighty percent of our arguments, and honestly, I’m not even sure why we still do this dance.
It’s like getting a rise out of her is the only thing that gets my blood pumping now.
My life is relatively settled. My career is stable, and the techniques I’ve crafted to help those returning from active duty are perfected.
I know what I’m doing, and I’m damn good at my job.
But there’s little to get the adrenaline racing now.
And our monthly dinner club, hosted by Lottie, is the highlight of my month.
If I could see more of her, I would. The group hasn’t taken a trip in years; maybe I should suggest it.
A whole week of annoying Katie, waiting for her cool, calm persona to snap, and watching her bite could be just what I need.
Right now, though, I need to focus on breathing until my erection calms down. I desperately try to think of non-sexual scenarios. Pensioners playing shuffleboard, zookeepers clearing up elephant poo, someone labeling all their food in the fridge . . .
Katie sighs, and a low groan fills the room as she grabs my hand with her death grip and tucks me right between her tits like my arm is a teddy bear.
I should pull back. She’s clearly asleep and would be mortified. But she’s like a crocodile that has snapped its jaw on its prey. There’s no escape now. She wiggles her ass, then leans back against me, the steady rise and fall of her chest making the muscles between my ribs warm.
This isn’t awful. Despite losing feeling in my fingers. It’s better than the camp cot, I can admit. But I can’t allow myself to enjoy this.
I tell myself that I would feel this comfortable with anyone.
It’s not that it’s Katie.
It can’t be because it’s Katie.
Leaning into her neck, I take a long breath in, the smell of her coconut shampoo tickling the back of my nose. No, this isn’t bad at all.
Katie
I roll over, the morning light trickling through the gauze curtains.
I must have forgotten to close them properly last night.
My top has ridden up, my panties giving me a humongous wedgie.
Despite the discomfort, I’ve slept well, better than I have in months.
The past year has taken a toll. I keep waiting for it to get better, for things to get easier, but the longer it goes on, the more tired I feel.
The monthly dinner club always makes me feel better, even if I spend half my time arguing with Jonesy.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and sigh, nuzzling my face against the silky pillowcase.
I love this room. Lottie’s whole house, really.
It’s got the floor-to-ceiling windows looking right out into the forest. Anyone could be watching you, and you’d have no idea.
Especially at night. It’s as thrilling as it is terrifying.
But during the light of day, the house is significantly less moody.
Its soft furnishings and gold accents bring a decadent elegance to the space without being too much.
Lottie comes from money, and her family home is unrivaled.
Tunnel-like corridors with impossibly long rugs, a vase in every shape, size, and color imaginable.
There’s even a suit of armor on the second floor, which I stumbled upon when we visited her family home a few years ago.
A lot of antiques passed down through the generations.
In contrast, Lottie’s own home is modern, classy, and not showy. Much like her.
I slip out of bed, eager to get some coffee in me after all the wine we drank last night. As I pull on my leggings and sweater, I notice the other side of the bed rumpled with a huge indent in the pillow.
Jacob Jones. Damn it, the memory of him sneaking in hits me like a sucker punch.
His thick forearms tucking around my waist. I swallow hard.
It’s dangerous territory to sleep with the enemy, especially when they look like Jonesy.
I remind myself that the massive-headed walking red flag practically accosted me in my sleep last night.
He’s lucky I didn’t punch him right in his big, dumb face.
Oh God, why did I let him hold me? In fact, I think I may have death-clawed him just to stop his incessant wriggling.
It’s like his hand didn’t know what to do when it grazed my boob, so he jumped from boob to panties, up and down, up and down, until I had to physically stop him.
I can’t say his obvious discomfort didn’t bring me some element of joy, even if it did mean having him plastered to me all night.
I head down to the kitchen in search of coffee and find Lottie leaning against the counter, talking to a shirtless Jonesy.
He’s annoyingly good-looking. Broad-chested, his muscles strong and thick, his chest hair tracing all the way down to his abs and sneaking past his waistband.
His hair is mussed, short on the sides but longer on top; his standard army style is a little longer than normal. He must be due for a haircut soon.
His eyes meet mine, and instantly he smirks, sipping his coffee as he watches me over the rim of the mug.
The scent of ground beans almost revives me as much as taking my first sip.
I lift my chin, keeping my head held high as I go to grab a cup from the cupboard next to him.
However, with one finger, he slides another mug across the counter toward me, filled to the brim with cream and sugar, just the way I take it.
I raise an eyebrow at him. It’s not necessarily suspicious that he knows the way I take my coffee; we have known each other for fifteen years after all. But it is suspicious that he made one for me. Perhaps this is a peace offering for letting him sleep in the bed. Probably not.
“Did you spit in it?” I ask.
“Is that what you’re into, princess?” He smirks as Lottie rolls her eyes, muttering, “It’s too early for bickering,” before walking out of the kitchen.
I take a defiant sip, the caffeine hitting me almost instantly despite the kernel of concern growing in my stomach as his grin widens.
“I guess it is.” He laughs, kicking off the counter and leaning on the island as if the very weight of his broad frame was too much this early in the morning.
“What?”
“I guess it is what you’re into.” His eyes dip to the coffee, the pull at his lips sending prickles down my spine.
“You did not spit in my coffee,” I snap, taking another sip to make a point despite the churning in my stomach warning me to toss it at him instead.
His eyes dip down to my throat as I swallow, and a faint line draws between his brows. He coughs, lifting himself from the kitchen island, and adjusts his sweatpants.
Rounding the island, he puts his coffee mug in the sink by leaning into my space. Once he’s placed his mug down, he doesn’t back up; instead, pushing a tendril of hair behind my ear, bending low to whisper. “Thanks for the cuddle, princess. See you next month.”
I slap his hand away, and he laughs, sauntering out of the room as if he owned the place. Once he’s out of sight, I pour the coffee down the sink.