Chapter 18
THORNE
It took my sleep-addled brain a solid moment to figure out why my bed felt so narrow and why my pillow was breathing. I slowly opened my eyes only to find my face plastered against a wall of very solid, very warm muscle. Riiight. Now I remembered.
Sometime around three in the morning, I’d woken up freezing cold.
It wasn’t the first time that’d happened—and it wouldn’t be the last—but somewhere in my little froggy brain, I’d remembered Calder was here.
And without any thought, I’d snatched my blanket off the bed and stumbled out into the living room, where he lay draped on the couch.
He’d been dead asleep, as one typically was during the witching hour.
But the second my legs hit the edge of the sofa cushion, he’d blindly lifted an arm, and I’d climbed in beside him.
At some point, though—after we’d both fallen back asleep—he must have flipped us, because now I was lying on the inside, tucked squarely between him and the couch cushions.
Comfy for me, but likely not so much for him, based on a quick glance.
Half of his massive frame hung precariously off the edge of the sofa.
He’d even planted one foot flat on the floor while resting a knee against the coffee table, just to keep from rolling off.
Then he’d slid one arm beneath me and wrapped it around my waist, as though to balance himself.
A ridiculous, sleepy smile pulled at my mouth. He’d given up his comfort for mine, all so I could get some rest.
I wanted nothing more than to just lay here and soak up his body heat, but alas, my bladder screamed for relief.
Not to mention, I needed to brush my pearly whites before he woke up and caught a whiff of my breath.
Yes, we were married, but five years apart had likely dulled the memory of troll breath first thing in the morning.
I slowly turned onto my side and braced one hand against the cushion space between us—not that there was much.
Then, with a deep breath, I wriggled free of the arm wrapped around my waist. Calder immediately drew in a soft breath and repositioned himself, turning his head away from me.
But his grip tightened, as though he was subconsciously trying to keep me from escaping.
“Calder,” I whispered, tapping his shoulder. “Let go. I need to pee.”
He didn’t budge. He just turned his head back toward me and buried his face in my messy hair before letting out a soft snore.
Classic.
Alright. Attempt number two.
This time, my only option was to brace my hand on his shoulder and push myself up before throwing a leg over his hip, straddling him.
If I could just crawl over, I could slip off the couch without waking him.
I highly doubted he got any quality rest last night, so I wanted to let him sleep as much as possible—well, as much as he could before my brothers came busting down my door.
Still straddling the manly werewolf beneath me, I scootched my knee to the outer edge of the cushion—
And slipped right off.
I let out a startled yelp as gravity took over.
Without any warning, I went down hard and collapsed right on top of him.
My elbow jabbed his ribs, my knee luckily slammed into the cushion between his legs, and my free hand—flailing blindly for something to catch my fall—landed right on a thick, hard ridge straining against his jean denim.
Calder jerked awake. But instead of locking eyes with me and laughing, his shifter reflexes immediately kicked in.
He clamped his arms around me, tight as a vise, and flipped us once until I was lying on my back with him above me.
And that morning wood—the one my hand had boldly reacquainted itself with not a minute ago—now rested in quite the precarious spot.
I froze. He froze.
Awareness slowly returned to Calder, and he squinted against the bright sunlight pouring through my living room window. He glanced at my flushed face, then slowly tipped his chin down until he spotted the place where our bodies touched.
A slow, wicked smirk spread across his sleep-lined face.
“Well,” he rasped, his morning voice a deep, gravelly rumble that shot straight through my chest and headed south. “This is one hell of a way of saying good morning.”
I rolled my eyes. “I fell.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured. “Isn’t that what they all say?”
“No,” I bit out, my cheeks flaming red. “I really did trip, and I fell on…on….”
“On my dick?” Calder asked, his mouth twitching with amusement.
“Ugh,” I weakly shoved at his chest, unable to gain any traction in this position. “Get off me if you’re going to be crass like that.”
Except he didn’t get off me. Instead, he slid a hand down to my hip and ran a thumb over a sliver of bare skin where my shirt had ridden up.
The moment his skin touched mine, the playful glint in his eyes faded, and he lowered his head.
I swear, I saw it in slow motion. The moment his eyes fluttered shut, the moment his lips started to pucker.
Gah! He was going to kiss me.
Panic instantly spiked in my chest.
I might have survived a magical vampire possession, but I absolutely refused to subject this man to my unbrushed teeth. I had some pride left. Not much, admittedly. But some.
“Nope!” The word blurted free of my mouth before I could stop myself.
My hand shot out without permission and snatched up one of the stray couch pillows. Then, as though some evil force had yet again taken control of me—see, I could joke about it—I smashed the stiff, decorative pillow directly into his face.
I barely heard his bewildered grunt. Thankfully, my lack of a plan worked. He stopped touching me to bat the offending pillow out of his face, which gave me a chance to scramble to freedom. I practically threw myself sideways until my knees hit the hardwood floor.
Calder shoved the pillow away from his face and blinked down at me with a mixture of betrayal and utter confusion.
“Did you just pillow-smash me?” he asked, his voice thick with disbelief.
“Morning breath!” I yelled back, already power-walking backward toward the hallway. “Don’t move. Give me three minutes!”
His face broke and he burst out into laughter. I spun on my heel and retreated into my en suite bathroom, where my toothbrush sat waiting for me.
The scrubbing I gave myself was fierce and thorough.
I left no tooth unscathed, then paused and considered the rest of me.
Even though I’d showered last night, I decided to once again scrub every inch of my face, underarms, and between my legs.
Freshness mattered. I’d seen enough commercials in the nineties to know that.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, finger-combed the absolute disaster that was my hair into a messy bun, and gave myself a mental gold stamp of approval.
Much better. I was now a kissable, socially acceptable member of society. Or, at least, as close as I was going to get before coffee.
I pulled open the bathroom door and padded barefoot down the hallway.
Once I returned to the living room, I found Calder seated on the couch, which now looked to be in one piece again.
From the looks of it, he’d straightened his clothes, tamed his wild bedhead, and washed his face.
Unlike me, he looked like a prize waiting to be won.
“I pillaged your guest bathroom,” he said the second I walked in, flashing a bright smile. “Found a pack of spare toothbrushes under the sink. Hope you don’t mind.”
For a moment, I debated telling him I used those to clean the toilets, but that seemed like a mean joke.
“Not at all. That’s exactly what they’re for. Better than using a finger,” I rambled as I escaped into the kitchen. But before I reached the threshold, I paused and started to turn. “Do you want some breakfast? I could make us some eggs, or maybe some—”
My words died the instant I fully turned and realized Calder was standing right in front of me and not on the sofa, where I’d left him.
I gasped and would have jumped back a step, were it not for his hands catching me around the waist.
My scantily clad waist.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
In my frantic rush to sanitize myself, I’d completely forgotten to change my clothes.
I was still wearing my favorite sleep set—a cropped, ribbed, white tank top that clung to my chest, and a pair of dark gray cotton shorts that could only be described as “skimpy.” They barely covered my ass on a good day, leaving my bare legs on full display.
My skin instantly flushed hot.
The condo might still belong to both Calder and me on paper, but spiritually, it was mine. My space. My private sanctuary. It’d been so long since I’d have to think about what I wore in my own kitchen. Hell, I’d walked around naked more times than I could count without a second thought.
But right now? Standing in front of my fully grown and dangerously observant werewolf husband in nothing more than a scrap of material that couldn’t even hide the press of my nipples seemed dangerous.
“You’re shivering,” Calder murmured, his voice dropping to a low, rough octave that sent a fresh wave of goosebumps over every inch of my flesh.
“Cold,” I lied.
Nope, nothing about me was cold.
Hands still on my waist, Calder walked me backwards into the kitchen. The second the granite island pressed into my lower back, he tightened his grip on my waist and lifted me, seating me atop the counter.
“I told myself I would be good and leave you alone, but seeing you like this…” He leaned in and pressed his nose against my throat, inhaling deeply. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my promise.”
The playful, minty-fresh energy in the room vanished in a single heartbeat, replaced by a tension that suddenly made it hard to breathe—at least for me.
He continued upward, his nose tracking a path to right below my ear. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he released a deep growl.
“The things I would do to you if we had the time.”