Bait (Wake, #1)(101)
He also found a comb and brought it with him into the bedroom. We walked to the end of the bed and it was like we didn't know what to do. We'd been in beds together plenty of times, but that time, I was nervous. It felt poles apart from before.
“What side of the bed do you sleep on?” I asked him, a little shyly.
“Are you serious?” He looked at me like I was being audacious. “It doesn't matter to me. I've been dreaming of sleeping all night with you for so long that I don't give a f*ck if you sleep side to side at the end of the damn thing.”
I giggled. It really was irrelevant, because I didn't care either.
“This is a bit weird, isn't it?” I asked. My pulse was racing. I heard what he'd said earlier and I wasn't sure what this would mean. I wanted it, but I didn't want to do more damage to him than good. Of all things, this is what I stopped to consider. All of the things I've done to this man, and that was the thing that caused me to pause. I felt silly.
“It's new. We've never got in bed knowing that neither of us were going to run.” He laughed and pointed at me with the comb. “You're not running, are you?”
“Not planning on it,” I said sarcastically. The truth was I really wasn't planning on it, but my plans always seemed to change.
“Well, then. Get up there, Betty. Make yourself at home.” He still wasn't wearing any clothes, just a towel and my eyes wandered over his skin. He'd lost a little weight, which only made his muscles seem more prominent. The lines in his back were strong and defined as he began walking to the closet.
He returned with a pair of boxers and a T-shirt.
“Are those for me?”
“One of them is. Which one do you want?” He was being playful and it was nourishment for my heart. So, I chose the least likely of the pair.
“I'll take the boxers.”
His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “That's my girl.”
He handed me the plaid boxers, which were way too big and didn't want to stay up after I pulled them up my legs. I let my towel fall, going topless.
Casey threw the shirt on and dropped his towel. He clapped his big hands together, and then rubbed them conspiratorially. “Now this is a sleepover!”
He smacked my ass as I climbed onto the four-poster bed and I crawled my way to the center. He followed and scooted behind me. He unraveled the towel, which was holding my wet hair up, and let the cool locks hit my shoulders and back. It gave me chills. He pulled at me and wedged my ass between his legs.
After leaning over to the bedside table, he threw the remote control onto my lap, telling me, “Find something good.” Then he moved my hair to the side and kissed the nape of my neck, finding a surprise there.
“You got ink?! Let me see.” I held my locks up for him to examine hoping he’d like it. I’d got the tattoo on a whim, praying that one day he’d see it and knowing that if he never did, I’d still have a reminder of him with me forever.
“It's a hook. You got a hook tattoo?” he softly said, so close to my skin that gooseflesh appeared down my arms and legs.
“I did. Do you like it?” I didn't know what he would think of it. After I’d got it, I badly wanted to send him a picture.
“It's beautiful. Perfect.” he added and kissed it. The hook was thin and delicate, centered barely under my hairline. I'd had the artist draw the thinnest of strings that tied at the eye of the J-shaped piece of metal. I'd instructed him to hide a C and an M in the line and to have it wrap the throat and shank. Yes, I’d studied hooks. To anyone else it would have looked like an unassuming hook and string, but to me it was a secret tribute to the man I deeply missed.
“It’s your initials hidden in the string,” I said.
He kissed my neck once more and then said, “Thank you, honeybee,” like I’d given him something precious. Casey’s simple words were full of meaning and the swallow I heard after he spoke didn’t go unnoticed.
I channel surfed, passing sports and sitcoms alike. I wondered if he had any of the good channels. It was getting late and I'd just about lay money that I could find something we'd both enjoy. Then I stumbled onto a skin-flick and tossed the remote aside, after turning the sound down.
I felt the comb slide smoothly through my hair, which I was sure would be littered with rats and tangles from the many rushed knotted ponytails I'd hastily thrown up throughout the day's travels.
Over and over, he dragged the comb through my wet hair running a hand behind it, almost like he was petting me. I watched the naked couple on the television touch each other and felt both relaxation and desire seep into my pores.
When I'd tired of not seeing him after minutes of viewing the erotic movie, I caught the comb behind me and captured his hand. I turned where I sat partway and found his eyes, hooded and glazed over.
“Do you always watch porn topless at slumber parties, or is this new?”
“It's been a while,” I said coyly. I released his hand and placed mine on his leg. He licked his lips, and on its own, my tongue came out to wet mine. “I'm usually completely naked.”
“Your dirty talk is improving. Tell me more,” he said bringing a hand around me grabbing a free breast.
“I've been doing some reading on it,” I said, trying to keep the smile out of my voice, which has always been my problem. “Studies show that men love it when you tell them how wet you are.”