Lib Novel Page 82
“You’re safe, Daisy. I promise.”
“I’m sorry for acting like a baby. But…will you please sleep here? On the bed?”
The smile on his face drops, and I know Charles is about to decline.
“Please. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t take advantage of you, Charles.” I try to make a joke, but neither of us smile.
Comforting each other. Sleeping on the same bed.
These were not the conditions of our marriage contract. But I still can’t ignore the fear in my chest.
“I swear I’ll sleep on my side.” When he just stands there, saying nothing, my voice cracks. “Are you really going to make me beg?”
“Fuck,” he groans softly before pulling the covers down and getting in on the other side of the bed. “Are you done or are you planning on torturing me some more tonight?”
My lips twitch. “It depends. Do you consider my talking torture?”
“Does it matter? You’re going to say whatever you want anyway.”
“You know me so well.” I pull the covers up to my neck, all the while thankful that I’m getting a front-row view of Charles’ bare chest.
“What are you smiling at, Mrs. Hawthorne?”
“That I finally get to appreciate what you were hiding under those fitted suits all these years.”
He laughs!
Charles Hawthorne, my boss and husband, the man who smiles so rarely that there’s a better chance of seeing a shooting star, lets go of full-blown laughter.
“You’re pulling no punches tonight. Are you, butterfly?”
My heart is so full that I feel it’ll just combust.
“Based on how you felt under me, I think you can take a tiny person like me.”
“You don’t know the power you hold.”
Over me.
I don’t know if he said those two additional words or if it was my imagination.
“Now sleep. We both have work tomorrow. And remember your promise—no taking advantage of me.”
“Pinky promise.” I intertwine my pinky finger with his, completely oblivious to the fact that I’ll not just break the promise but thrash it with my hands, legs, face, and body.
“How much longer are you going to pretend you’re asleep?” Charles’ voice is more like a groan.
I don’t just hear his words but feel them moving in his throat where my mouth is pressed. It’s not just my mouth, though—every inch of me is pressed to him.
His one arm is functioning as a pillow, taking the weight of my head, while the other is wrapped around my waist. My feet are trapped between his legs, and my thigh is over his erection, which has surged to life.
“Since when are you awake?” I ask, making no attempt to pull away.
“Since you started breathing hard and making tiny circles all over me.”
My hand drifting over his stiffening nipple halts. “Sorry.”
Charles pulls back, and with a single digit under my chin, tugs my face up to his. “That wasn’t a complaint, butterfly. But sometimes even saints fail to restrain themselves.”