Diary of a Bad Boy(47)
“Ah, come on,” he says. It’s a whisper, and it feels like a caress. But not the sort of caress I need. “Just enjoy the cuddle, lass. This doesn’t happen . . . ever. Consider that a victory tonight.” His lips press a sweet kiss against my cheek as he snuggles in closer, his erection fitting against my ass, his chest covering my back like a weighted blanket, and the secure hold of his arm wrapped around my waist offers me a sense of security I don’t think I’ve ever had. And by the sounds of it, he probably hasn’t either.
Even though I’m completely turned on to the point of pain, I consider what he is offering me. It might not be sex, but in some ways, it’s greater. It’s a piece of intimacy he doesn’t share with others. For that, I need to be grateful. The other part of this will come—I’ll make sure of it—because if there is something I’ve realized tonight it’s that Roark is starting to make his way into my heart. Slowly, but he’s carving a path.
“Ah, fookin’ A,” I hear next to me on a painful moan, scaring the crap out of me. I jump at least a few inches in the air and turn around to find Roark, holding his crotch, eyes shut in pain.
Last night comes flashing back to me: Roark’s text, his late-night visit—or rather early morning. The touching. The non-touching. The blue-balls I suffered last night.
His confessions.
The way he held me.
His sweet kisses along my ear and neck.
“Ya got me in the nads, Sutton.” He takes a deep breath. “That’s one way to take care of morning wood.”
My sympathy finally kicks in as I press my hand to his arm. “I’m so sorry. I must have forgotten you were here. Did my knee connect with you in the wrong way?”
“Ya could say that.” Letting out a long breath of air, his green eyes pop open and his breathing seems to steady. “Damn, woman. If you wanted to wake me up, just give me a shake.”
I chuckle. “I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to knee your junk.”
“Are ya sure you weren’t getting back at me for disturbing your sleep last night?”
“No, you’re the resentful one, remember?” I sit up in bed. Immediately his eyes fall to my chest where I know he’s taking in my hard nipples. It’s a given. I’m almost used to it by now.
Once he gets a good eyeful, his eyes travel back up my body. “You smell good, like flowers.”
I wasn’t expecting that. I press my hand against the sheets and say, “I spray lavender oil on my bed, helps me sleep.”
“It smells like you, gives me a goddamn hard-on.”
“I feel like everything does that to you.”
He reaches out and pulls me back down on the bed, his hand snaking around my waist. “Not everything, lass.” He strokes a strand of hair out of my face before sighing and turning around, leaving me breathless.
He tosses the sheets to the side and struts toward the bathroom, his back muscles flexing with every step he takes. I’m so focused on his backside, I’m almost caught staring when he stops and spins around to face me.
Scratching the side of his head, he looks around and asks, “Is there a second floor to this apartment?”
“There is a second floor, but it doesn’t belong to me. What you see, is what you get. This is it.”
Eyes wide, he asks, “This is your entire apartment? My bedroom is bigger than this.” He takes in the kitchen. “You don’t even have a real fridge. That’s something I had in college. What about an oven?”
Amused, I sit up in bed again. “I have a toaster oven that works perfectly fine.”
“Where’s your kitchen sink?”
“In the bathroom.”
He scoffs. “And how much do you pay?”
“Enough to make you question my sanity.” I gesture to the side. “But look at the pretty fireplace and the light that streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the front and the cute little alcove. It’s perfect.”
“You don’t have a sofa.”
“Why do I need a sofa when I have a bed?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows.
“You need a sofa for fucking.”
“What’s a bed for then?”
“So much more,” he says with a smile before heading into the bathroom.
Sighing like a love-struck teen, I flop back onto bed and drape my arm over my eyes. God, what I wouldn’t give right now to have Roark come out of the bathroom completely naked and push me up against the mattress, only to spread my thighs and finally give me what I’ve been wanting for weeks now.
To prevent getting hot from the thought and having a repeat of last night, I concentrate on the old ceiling and the intricate carvings that have been painted over too many times to count. It’s one of the reasons I loved this apartment so much—so much history packed within four small walls. And even if the fireplace doesn’t work, and I don’t have a true working kitchen, and there is a draft that seeps from the old windows, I love it here.
The bathroom door opens and I turn my head to the side to see Roark dressed in his pants but that’s it, and they’re not even zipped.
I keep my tongue from flopping out the side of my mouth as he approaches, his hair a mess, a sleepy look in his eyes, and a lazy smile on his face. It’s scary how, with every step he takes, my heartbeat races faster, my nerves skyrocket, and my desire for him grows.