Only One Bed #2
He was lying on his side, one arm tucked under his cheek, soft breaths warming the pillow. The blanket had slipped, exposing the pale, tempting curve of his shoulder, and he was clutching that damn towel like it was a lifeline.
He looked—
I drew a jagged breath. For once, I let myself admit it. He looked like the sweetest thing. The most beautiful, fragile thing I’d ever been allowed to touch. A masterpiece I was terrified I’d already broken.
I’d fight the world for him.
He twitched in his sleep. The mattress dipped, and his knee bumped against my thigh. Then he sighed—a soft little sound—and burrowed closer.
The scent intensified instantly.
“Cooper,” I muttered.
No response. I nudged his shoulder, trying to guide him back to his side of the bed. He whimpered in protest, a helpless sound that triggered an almost violent instinct to protect him.
Whatever the fuck was happening between us was no longer deniable. I didn’t know how to stop it—I didn’t even know if I wanted to.
He moved again, sliding across the sheets until half his body was pressed against mine.
Then he nuzzled his face against the crook of my shoulder like an affectionate cat seeking warmth.
I froze, my heart beating so hard I was sure he could feel it through the mattress.
Slowly, carefully, I tried to nudge his head away from the sensitive skin of my neck, but it didn’t help.
His hair tickled my jaw, silky and smelling of that damned fruit, and his breath was a warm, steady puff against my collarbone.
I had nowhere to escape to. The friction of his body against mine sent a brutal jolt straight through me.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I tried again, sliding his arm gently away, shifting him back. He whimpered again. Then he pressed even closer, his thigh sliding between mine.
Everything in me went still.
“Oh no.”
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but remember.
His weight in my lap. The way he’d said yes.
The way he’d reacted to my touch—how his orgasm had taken him by surprise and spooked him.
He was joking about it now, but the silence of the last year spoke for itself.
It had been too much for him to take. I had failed to keep him safe.
My forehead broke into a cold sweat. “Cooper,” I tried again.
No response. Only another small, breathy sound as he chased my warmth, nuzzling my throat. Very carefully, trying not to wake him, I slipped out from under him.
He stirred, hand tightening briefly, like he felt the loss even in his sleep.
I grabbed the towel from his grip and stepped away from the bed.
I needed distance, and I needed it fast.
Before I forgot why I was supposed to keep it in the first place.
* * *
The water pressure in the shower was surprisingly good. I stood under the hot spray, desperately trying to wash the scent of peaches off my skin. It didn’t work. The steam only seemed to make the smell bloom.
I was rinsing my hair when I heard a soft whimper from the room. Hastily, I grabbed the towel I had managed to snatch from Cooper, dried what I could, and wrapped it around my hips before opening the door.
Cooper was thrashing around on the bed. He had kicked off the blanket and peeled off his clothes.
“Coop,” I murmured.
He didn’t wake. He rolled onto his stomach, his back arching slightly as he let out another thin, needy whimper.
A blush crept up my neck.
If this was how he always slept, this road trip wasn’t going to be difficult. It was going to fucking end me.
I stepped back into the bathroom and leaned against the door, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Shit.
I was painfully, throbbingly hard. The whole day had been one long exercise in temptation, and now I had the image of Cooper, flushed and half naked on the bed, tormenting me.
I knew I was being ridiculous. I was twenty-two years old and hiding in a motel bathroom because my best friend’s little brother smelled too good and made small noises in his sleep.
What the fuck even was my life?
I ran a hand over my face.
Another soft noise came from the room—a hitch in his breathing that sounded a lot like an invitation. I let the towel fall and, telling myself this was purely a matter of survival, wrapped a hand around my aching cock.
Don’t think about him.
That lasted maybe half a second. The moment I started stroking myself, Cooper was everywhere.
I stopped, jaw tight.
No.
I fumbled for my phone, choosing a random porn video.
I muted it immediately, then picked up the pace, rough and deliberately detached.
I didn’t need this to be good. I just wanted relief.
But every time my hand slid up, the fruity fragrance seemed to thicken in the humid air.
At least the screen in front of me kept me from imagining Cooper.
Mostly.
I came with a grunt, bracing one hand against the sink, already knowing it hadn’t fixed a damn thing. This was basically a band-aid over a bullet wound that would keep bleeding until the tension between Cooper and me ended—or exploded.
When I returned to the room, Cooper was sleeping more peacefully. I picked up the blanket and draped it over his small frame, tucking the edges in so he was cocooned. Then I sat down in the armchair in the corner.
Because there was no way in hell I was getting into that bed now.