Chapter 39
*****
The moment his fingers touched her forehead, reality crashed back with startling clarity.
She wasn’t escaping from a nightmare like the other nights, she was being pulled from the most vivid, intense dream she’d ever had.
A dream where his hands had been everywhere, where his mouth had been doing things that made her arch and cry out his name.
Did he hear her scream his name?
And there he was, real and solid and close enough that she could smell his familiar scent, his concerned eyes searching her face in the darkness. The irony wasn’t lost on her.
“You okay?” he murmured, his thumb unconsciously stroking her face. “It’s just a bad dream.”
If only he knew.
Her skin was still hypersensitive from the dream, and his innocent touch sent aftershocks through her body. She was acutely aware of how thin her nightgown was, how the sheets had twisted around her legs, how her breathing was still uneven, but this time not from fear, but something stronger.
“I…I’m okay,” she whispered, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let herself lean into his touch, watching as his pupils dilated slightly in response. “Thank you.”
His hand stilled on her face, and she could see the exact moment awareness flickered across his features. The way his gaze dropped to her lips, then lower, taking in her flushed skin and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
“You’re still shaking,” he said, his voice rougher and uncertain.
She was. But not from the dream but from having him so close, from the way his presence made her body remember every phantom touch from her subconscious.
“Stay,” she managed to stay, her throat dry as her fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Please.”
She saw the war playing out across his face as he weighed in compassion versus desire, logic against instinct. His eyes kept drifting to where her nightgown had slipped off one shoulder, and she made no move to fix it.
“Sleep,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction, and he made no move to pull away.
“Can you please stay?” she asked softly.
The question hung between them in the thickening air.
She could feel his pulse hammering beneath her fingertips, and she could see the way his breathing had become ragged.
All she had to do was pull him down to her, and this maddening tension between them would finally find its release, once in for all.
“Just for a bit,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving his. “Until I fall back asleep.” She was desperate to be near him.
He nodded and started to get up to sit on the chair by the bed like the other times but she pulled on his wrist.
“Stay,” her voice was insistent, more breathless than she intended. “Close to me.”
He froze, his eyes searching her face in the dim light but he didn’t move.
“Please.” The word came out softer, more vulnerable than she’d planned.
Isha saw the exact moment his resolve wavered, the way his jaw clenched as he fought some internal battle. Finally, he exhaled slowly and sat at the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.
But that wasn’t close enough. Not nearly close enough.
She shifted over, making room for him, her eyes never leaving his. “You can sleep on this side.”
After another long moment, he nodded before he stretched out beside her, careful to maintain distance. But she could feel the heat radiating from his body, and could hear the careful control in his breath. The space between them felt charged like every time, electrifying.
She turned on her side to face him. In the darkness, she could see the tension in his profile.
“Thank you,” she whispered, before closing her eyes as if to suppress the growing tension between them. It was the closest he had gotten in days since the night they went out to dinner.
Minutes passed and she closed her eyes and waited for his breath to settle. It took a lot longer than she expected but his breathing evened out. Slowly she opened her eyes to look at him. She saw he had his back to her and was a good half a foot away.
Isha took a deep breath and did the most irrational thing she could think of. She scooted closer to him, one baby inch at a time being super careful about not waking him. Moments where she thought his breathing pattern shifted, she froze before inching in closer.
Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, hyperaware of how close she was getting to him, how his scent surrounded her. She was so close to him she could feel his taut muscles against her chest. She only had a thin satin robe on and her pebbled nipples threatened to rip through the thin fabric.
Her mind and body were so desperately aligned for his touch, the feel of his heat against her, she moved smoothly to press the soft flesh of her chest into his back before burying her face into his shirt fabric.
Moments passed and she took in the warmth and barely a minute into her act, she felt him go completely still, his breathing becoming controlled.
“Isha, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice strained.
Instead of answering, she let her breathing deepen, evening out as if she was in a deep sleep. She let out a soft moan against his back, her arm draping over his waist in what she hoped seemed like an unconscious movement.
“What the...” he started, then stopped, his muscles tensing under her touch.
She kept her breathing steady, feigning sleep while every cell in her body was screaming with awareness.
Through the thin fabric of his shirt, she could feel the heat of his skin, the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat that betrayed him despite his attempts to cover up the excitement and deny its very existence.
He tried to ease away slowly, but she followed the movement, pressing closer, her leg sliding against his as if seeking warmth in her sleep. The contact sent electricity shooting through her entire body, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping.
“Fuck,” he breathed, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it.
She could feel the war raging in his body.
She knew he wanted to turn around, to give in to what they both desperately wanted, but was fighting every instinct.
His hand hovered over her arm that she had draped over him, for a long moment before finally settling there, his thumb unconsciously stroking her skin.
The gentle touch nearly undid her careful charade. She wanted to arch into him, to abandon the pretense and take what she needed. But this slow torture was exciting. The anticipation building with every careful breath, every small movement that could be explained away as sleep.
She waited long enough before shifting again, this time letting a soft sigh escape her lips as she pressed her hips closer to him and felt his sharp intake of breath in response.
He swore softly into the darkness, but turned around, his arm sliding around her, pulling her closer despite himself.
It was all she wanted in that moment. She buried her face partially into his chest as he lay on his side facing her, her chest pressed up against him and her belly was dented by his hardness.
She wanted more but she knew she had to slowly but steadily build it up before she got it all out of the system.
Her desperation got the better of her. Thoughts of never getting this close to him overtook her strategic mind. Before she knew it, she was pulling her sleep shirt up to her shoulders and plastering her bare body against his chest.
A shudder passed through him as her hands slid under his shirt, pushing the hem of his t-shirt up his chest, and the moment her fingertips made contact with his bare skin, every rational thought he’d clung to shattered like glass.
His jaw clenched, muscles turned rigid as he fought against the fire spreading beneath her touch.
His hands remained frozen at his sides, fists slowly curling and uncurling, warring between reaching for her and forcing himself to step away.
The tendons in his neck stood taut, his head tilting back slightly as if seeking distance his body refused to create.
Her own breathing hitched, and he could feel the tremor that ran through her palms as they pressed against his chest. She hesitated, fingers splaying wide before contracting slightly, as if memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat through his skin.
She squeezed her eyes shut before pressing her bare chest into his, the moan that escaped her muffled in the scrunched fabric of his chest. They silently held the same desperate conflict that was ripping him on the inside.
She knew there was no future to pursuing the attraction but she didn’t know any other way to get it out of her system before she heads back. She knew he struggled with the same thing but what other option was left for them?
His forehead creased, a muscle jumping in his cheek as he stared down at her as she hid her face in his chest. Every line of his body was tense.
His shoulders drawn tight, chest rising and falling with carefully controlled breaths, the slight gap that he tried to create that his body refused to obey.
He was under a spell and his body was intoxicated with the feel of her velvety skin against his, the soft mounds on her chest plastered against his flesh and most of all how their hearts thundered in unison.
Finally, he moved, his hand going from his side, sliding up to her shoulder before his fingers gripped her hair. Her breath picked up and so did his. His undying need to look into her eyes made him pull on her hair, making her head tilt.
She did not resist as he gently pulled on her hair as if he wanted her to face him. She bit her lower lip but kept her eyes closed. The moment was intense and she had never felt so overwhelmed when it was her who initiated such a moment.
Moments passed and she kept her eyes closed and then she felt him move, move away and she panicked. Her eyes flew open and her hand that was on his chest slid to his back, pulling him to her as she held his gaze.