He’s going to kiss me. I can see the intent in his eyes. My brain registers it, but it’s like my body is short-circuiting. I don’t make a single move to back away.
His tongue traces his lower lip a second before his mouth meets mine, his fingers gripping hard on my hip, a sharp contrast to the gentle touch on my face.
It isn’t a peck on the lips, a sign of gratitude for helping him. It’s pure fire and heat, his tongue not hesitating to lick into my mouth. I only thought I was needy. This kiss sparks a desperate urgency inside of me.
I gasp when he pulls me closer, the length of him pressing into my belly, and I’ve never regretted a sound more in my life. It doesn’t cause him to take things further but to pull his head back, breaking contact with my mouth.
I have to clear my throat and step away.
“Think you can make it back to the bed?”
He looks down at me as if some sort of other suggestion is on his mind, but he doesn’t speak the words.
My mouth is dry the entire time it takes us to get him back to the bed. We have to ignore that kiss and his body’s reaction while I help him into a pair of sweats. Helping him lie down is just as much an exercise as walking him in here.
When he grabs my hand before I can step away, I expect him to say something, to invite me to lie beside him or something suggestive, but he clears his throat and releases me.
I give him two pain pills and a bottle of water before heading back into the bathroom to clean up the towels, washcloth, and that damn hand towel. My mind is full of things I shouldn’t even be thinking about, but I can’t help where my mind wanders in the still steamy room.
Will we ever talk about that kiss? Was it one of gratitude, or was it a hint of something more?
His eyes are closed when I come back out into the room, and they don’t even flutter when I readjust the blanket over his body. I turn off the bedroom light and curl up in the recliner, my eyes locked on his face the entire time.
I feel antsy, the events of the day keeping me awake. His sleep schedule is off due to the meds he’s taking around the clock, and my body still hasn’t adjusted from the long days and nights in El Salvador. Exhaustion doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel, but I can’t seem to get comfortable. It’s more need than anything else that prevents me from sleeping and even rubbing my thighs together doesn’t abate the demands I’m suffering from.
I jolt when Javier’s hand pats the bed. He doesn’t say anything, and his eyes remain closed for the longest time.
“Come on,” he says, his hand patting the bed beside him. “Your tossing and turning is preventing me from sleeping.”
It’s the invitation I was hoping for earlier, but I still hesitate at the offer.
“We both need the rest.”
His eyes stay closed this entire time, and it’s as if he knows I wouldn’t be able to do it if he were watching me.
Several long minutes pass, and I stand. I figure he’s finally fallen asleep, but he moves his hand immediately to his side when I climb on the bed.
Maybe the comfort of the mattress in place of the chair will be exactly what I need to finally get some real rest.
Chapter 32
Thumper
Rustling wakes me, and I want to hiss at Cara for wiggling in the damn recliner and waking me up, but then I remember that she crawled into bed with me.
Did she leave again?
I channel my senses to my side, and nope, she didn’t leave, and the movement to my side is rhythmic. Maybe a nightmare?
Then she moans, a low whimpering sound that shoots straight to my dick.
Fuck me, if she isn’t touching herself.
She crawled in bed earlier, lying on top of the covers, but I can feel the warmth of her skin near mine, indicating that she crawled under them at some point.
The movement is soft, a slow, luxurious roll of her hips, the slightest brush of her arm near mine, and I hate that her body is trapped beneath the blanket. I want to crack my eyes open and see her. I want to watch her fingers working over that tight bundle of nerves to see exactly how she likes it. Fast or slow. Soft or hard. A little of both maybe?
I want to smell her arousal as it permeates the air around us in a humid cloud of need. I crave the taste of her skin on my tongue, her orgasm pulsing against my mouth or around my cock when I’m buried deep.