Chapter 44
Reed didn’t want to wake up.
And it wasn’t because his entire body hurt or that, when he did, he’d have to remember last night or face the shitshow that was his life.
It was because he’d have to leave Verity’s bed.
And with her curled up against him, her back to his front, his arm around her waist, he was in no hurry to do that.
Not when in this fuzzy, dreamlike space between sleep and awake everything was different.
Anything was possible.
Even him touching Verity Jennings.
He wasn’t just touching her. He was fucking spooning her, trapping her between him and the wall, his face pressed against the silky, fragrant strands of her hair. Her head rested on his right bicep, his left arm was wrapped around her waist, both their hands under her shirt—her fingers wrapped around his wrist; his palm pressed against the soft, warm skin of her belly.
His hard cock was nestled against the top curve of her ass.
He’d tried to keep his distance. He didn’t touch a girl unless she gave full consent.
Full, verbal, completely conscious, and one hundred percent sober consent.
He’d stuck by that for hours. Inching away when she scooted closer to him in her sleep until he was left with approximately six inches of space on her mattress.
Gently removing her hand when she touched him. His arm. His back. And one time that about had him shooting out of bed, the top of his thigh.
Verity was a snuggler. Seeking him out time and time again, burrowing against him with little sighs of contentment. Wrapping around him like he was her own personal security blanket.
He’d laid awake half the night listening to her soft breathing, aware of every one of her movements, big or small. Aware that even when she wasn’t physically touching him, she was right there next to him, the only barriers between him and her soft, curvy body, a thin quilt and his own fading willpower.
It got worse as the night wore on and that willpower disappeared completely. He couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d stood between his legs in those snug shorts, her smooth, bare thighs brushing against his jeans. How the wide, loose collar of her sweatshirt had slid down her shoulder, revealing the white strap of her tank top underneath it. How her hair had looked after she’d taken out her hairband, loose and wavy and wild.
How gentle she’d been when she’d wiped the blood from his face and knuckles. How warm her fingers were as she’d smoothed antibiotic over the cut on his eyebrow. How her hands had trembled when she’d lifted his shirt.
She’d snuck him into her house, cleaned him up, and let him sleep in her bed.
She’d taken care of him.
Then, she’d cried herself to sleep.
It had torn him apart, knowing she was crying for him.
Because of him.
He’d laid there like a goddamn coward, each one of her soft sniffles twisting his gut into knots. Kept his fists clenching the quilt so he didn’t reach for her. His back teeth clamped together so he didn’t remind her he wasn’t worth her tears.
Or beg her to stop.
Eventually, he’d fallen asleep.
And woke up to discover that, not only had both dogs joined them—Bella at his back, Titus at the foot of the bed—but that he’d found his way under that quilt barrier, and at some point during the night, Verity had taken her sweatshirt off.
This time, he was the one snuggling up to her.
He’d already broken so many of the rules he’d made when it came to her.
He’d sought her out.
Had let her see too much.
And by staying in her bed, holding her this way, he was breaking another one.
Taking more from her with each inhale of her coconut shampoo and the feel of the silken skin of her bare shoulder against his chin. With the press of her full ass against his dick and the rounded curve of her belly filling his palm.
She’d already given him comfort and care and a place to crash.
More than he deserved.
More than he could ever repay.
But not even that thought, let alone any sense of honor, selflessness, or fucking self-preservation could get him to move.
Not until his dog wiggled his way between the two humans, forcing Reed to slide his hand out from under her shirt.
When Reed rolled onto his back—forcing Bella to hop off the bed—Verity rolled with him, somehow managing to keep her head on his shoulder. Now her hair was tickling his cheek, and she’d brought her hand out from under the quilt to rest it high on his chest, the tips of her fingers touching the skin above his collar.
And he couldn’t stop himself from curling his arm around her, his hand once more going under the hem of her tank top to the smooth skin beneath, this time curling around her hip. Titus, realizing a lost cause when he saw one, shot Reed a pitying look, then got up and hopped off the bed.
Reed drew her closer until she was pressed against him once again.
Five more minutes, he promised himself. Five more minutes of her coconut scent and soft skin. Five more minutes of her warmth and curves. Five more minutes where everything was different.
Five more minutes where anything was possible.
Even Verity Jennings being his girl.
He got less than thirty seconds.
And then the alarm on her phone went off.
It took ten more seconds before she stirred. Another five for her to shift her body over his as she reached for the phone on the nightstand, her eyes still closed. Five more while she blindly slapped at the screen of her phone.
Turning his head, he brushed her hand away and turned off the alarm. She snuggled against him again, wiggling much like his dog had done only minutes before.
Except Verity was wiggling while practically laying on top of him, her tits smashed against his chest, her top leg thrown over his thighs, her pussy pressed against his hip.
Fuck. Forget five minutes. He wouldn’t last longer than two.
Her lips grazed the underside of his jaw as she moved her head, and he jerked his gaze down to see if she was fucking with him, but her eyes were still closed, her mouth slightly open, her breathing even.
He froze, his heart racing. More of that wiggling had her sliding her leg higher, her inner thigh brushing along the length of his dick like a caress before settling there with just the right amount of pressure.
And he wanted to hump her leg like a fucking dog.
He’d had a lot of shitty times in his life.
Times where his fears had pushed him into doing something stupid. Something reckless. Where rage had swamped him. Where he’d lashed out at anyone and everything.
But this, this moment that smelled like coconut and felt like the best thing he’d ever experienced?
This was hell.
Because it showed him what heaven could be.
And he knew he’d never have it.
She shifted again. Wiggled a little more. Dragged her thigh down his length, then back up as she released a soft, contented sigh. His cock twitched hard enough he was surprised it didn’t bounce her leg off him.
Tipping his head back, teeth clenched once again, he ran through all the ways she was out of his league. All the reasons why he was no good for her. How being with him would bring her down. Hold her back.
How being with him would destroy her.
If she didn’t destroy him first.
Then, he glanced down to find her awake and staring at him, her hair poofy and tangled, her lips parted, her warm breath washing over his chin, her eyes sleepy and soft.
And couldn’t help but think that his total and complete destruction would be worth it.
If she was the one annihilating him.
Sunlight filtered in through the window, weak and muted from the overcast morning, but it still managed to cast Verity in its glow, as if she was lit from within. This close, he could count the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. Could see the gold surrounding the burst of brown in the blue of her right eye. That her left eye had a similar color pattern, but the brown spot was smaller. Lighter.
This close, he could feel the beat of her heart, quick and unsteady, against his chest. Could hear the shakiness of her exhale as she lifted her hand to his face.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, barely a whisper of sound as she skimmed her fingertips just above his cut eyebrow. “I’m so sorry someone hurt you.”
He shut his good eye, hating the sympathy in her gaze. Unable to face her kindness.
Not strong enough to handle the emotions roiling through him.
But when she started to slide her hand away, his eye flew open and he tightened his hold on her waist.
Her eyes widened, her breath caught, the sound of it like a starter gun going off at the beginning of a race.
Permission for him to do what he wanted.
To take what he shouldn’t.
She could still be only half awake, he tried to tell himself as he stabbed his hand into her silky hair, cupping the back of her head. She might not be fully aware of what was happening.
But she was watching him in that intense, I see past all your bullshit and into the very heart of you way of hers. And she’d slid her hand to his shoulder, curling her fingers around the nape of his neck.
She flicked her gaze down to his mouth. Sank her upper teeth into the right side of her lower lip.
He wished she’d do or say something to stop him. Then he wouldn’t be slowly drawing her head toward his. His heart wouldn’t be pounding like it was trying to escape his chest. His hands wouldn’t be shaking. His pain wouldn’t somehow be diminished simply because he was touching her.
He wouldn’t have this weird, tumbling sensation in his stomach.
Like he was falling too fast to stop himself.
It was just a kiss. She’d told him before he could kiss her. That she’d wanted him to. That was all this was.
All he’d take from her.
Just this once, he promised himself, desperate to believe it.
Their noses touched. Their breath mingled. Their lips barely, barely brushed…
And someone knocked, hard, on her bedroom door.
She jerked upright, and for a moment, his hold on her hair tightened, a reflexive action to keep her close.
To take that kiss no matter who was knocking.
No matter what happened after it.
Then he got his head out of his ass and snatched both of his hands off her so fast, she tumbled forward, catching herself with one hand on his chest, her other one pressing against his side where his old man had gotten in a lucky kick.
Fucker still had had his boots on from his run to the store for more beer.
Reed hissed in a breath, and she went white and snatched her hands away.
There was another knock and Bella, sitting in front of the door, tail wagging, barked in response.
“Verity?” some guy called through the wood, his voice husky, like he just woke up. Not the cop brother. Must be the one she lived with. “It’s six.”
Verity scrambled backward, kicking at the covers when they tangled around her legs, and hit the wall behind her with a dull thud.
“Verity?” the guy asked again. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she blurted in a tone so squeaky and guilty the guy would have to be an idiot to believe her.
The door handle jiggled.
Not an idiot.
“You sure?” He jiggled the knob again. “Why is your door locked?”
She cleared her throat.
And let loose.
“Can’t a girl have some privacy in her own home? I’m a grown adult and sometimes, grown adults lock their bedroom doors for a multitude of reasons, most of which aren’t criminal, unethical, or nefarious, nor do they require an inquisition.”
The guy’s sigh was loud enough to be heard through the door.
Reed could relate.
She drove him batshit crazy, too, with her rapid-fire speeches about what was right and what was wrong and her fancy-ass worded rationales that ripped a guy’s argument to shreds.
“When you let Bella out, take her on her leash,” the guy said, smart enough to change the subject. “Yesterday she chased the Turner’s cat and was three blocks away before I caught her.”
“That cat purposely antagonizes her!”
“Just put her on her leash.” Then he muttered just loud enough for them to hear, “Inquisition? Jesus Christ.”
The moment his footsteps disappeared down the hall, Verity scooted off the bed. Both dogs ran over to her, vying for her attention and she set a hand on each of their heads.
“You’re going to have to wait until Urban leaves before you go,” she whispered, not looking at him. “He’s usually out the door by six-thirty.”
Reed had to be at the garage by seven. He’d been hoping to stop by the trailer first, shower and throw a few things into a bag so he could get through the next couple of nights sleeping in his truck until his old man cooled down.
No time for that if he was going to be stuck in this room for the next half hour.
Plus, his dog needed to be let out.
But none of those were the reason why Reed needed to get the fuck out of here.
It was Verity, standing before him, mussed from sleep, in nothing but shorts that were too short and sat too low on her rounded hips, and a tank top that was too white and too thin and too tight.
The material of it wrapped around her tits, dipped low in the front, showing too much of them. Her nipples were clearly visible, hard and a dark pink that matched her lips, and the hem kept rolling up, showing several inches of the pale skin of her rounded belly.
Skin he’d touched. Curves that had fit perfectly in his hand.
The memory of how soft she was, how warm, was burned into him, as if it had become a part of him.
And now, so was this image of her.
More pieces of her he was going to take with him where he could tuck them away.
Keep them his.
Using his right hand, he shoved the covers aside, then sat up. Pain seared his side and he ground his teeth against it, breathing through the discomfort until he could swing his legs around to hang over the mattress.
He didn’t think that kick had cracked a rib, but they were definitely bruised.
And hurt like a motherfucker.
He glanced at Verity to find her watching him, her gaze worried, her arms crossed in front of her, tits lifted and about spilling out of that fucking shirt, her teeth nibbling her lower lip like she’d done right before he’d almost kissed her.
Spying the sleeve of her sweatshirt poking out from under the quilt, he dragged it free and tossed it onto the corner of the bed. When she didn’t move—because sometimes even smart girls needed someone to give them a fucking clue—he dropped his gaze pointedly to her tits before letting it skim down the rest of her body, lingering on her stomach. Her thighs. Her pussy. Rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth as he lifted his gaze to her face to meet her eyes. Let her see the heat there. His hunger.
Let her see everything he wanted to do to her, everything he felt for her.
He let her see him. Just for a second.
Long enough for her lips to part on a shaky exhale, the pulse under her jaw to flutter and her eyes to haze over. Long enough for her body to respond, for her nipples to lift and pebble more. For goosebumps to cover the exposed skin of her belly.
But then she blinked and frowned, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Dropping her gaze to the sweatshirt, keeping it there, she took the two steps necessary to grab it, then quickly went back to her original spot.
Out of his reach.
Where she belonged.