One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(22)

“Mmm . . .”

“Are you sleeping?”

“Maybe,” she grumbles.

Knowing how hard she works and how long her shifts are, I don’t think twice when I scoop her into my arms and take her inside the house. Her head lulls into my chest. No doubt the wine and long hours conked her out.

I have three options here: I can drive her back to her place and help her get into bed, I can walk her into the guest room and tuck her in, or . . . I can take her to my room and spend the rest of the night wrapped around her lithe body, running my hand over her soft skin, smelling her delicious lavender scent.

I’m a good guy, but I also have my selfish moments and spending the night wrapped around Adalyn is going to be one hell of a selfish moment I’ll capitalize on.

Turning the lights off, not worrying about the wine glasses outside, I do a quick lockup and carry Adalyn to the back of the house where I lay her on the bed. As I remove her shoes, her eyes flutter open, lazy and sexy, and she asks, “What’s going on?”

“Just getting you ready for bed.”

Instead of putting up a fight like I thought she would, she nods and lays her head back down. Chuckling, I finish up with her shoes and head to the bathroom where I brush my teeth, shuck my jeans and shirt, and grab a cup of water and toothbrush for Adalyn.

She’s half awake when I offer her the toothbrush, running through the motions of brushing her teeth. But to her credit, she doesn’t forget to brush her tongue. She’s high-functioning when practically sleeping, her eyes closed the entire time.

When I return from dropping off the spare toothbrush I had, I find her struggling with her jeans, the zipper giving her a run for her money. Okay, not as high-functioning as I thought.

“Do you want your pants off?”

“Mmm,” she answers with a sleepy nod.

“Okay.” I assess the situation and wonder how I’m going to make this happen when she flops to her back, arms spread, giving me easy access to the button and zipper. “Well, that’s one way to do it.”

Without trouble, I undo her pants and ease them down her legs, her tight black shirt painted onto her stomach, a few inches higher than the waistline of her . . .

Oh fuck.

She’s wearing a thong.

For the love of God, don’t flip over. Please don’t flip over.

Turning my back to her, I fold her jeans and place them on the bench at the foot of the bed and work my way to my side of the bed. She’s going to be covered in blankets. This brilliant idea is not going to turn into a painful one. I know it won’t.

I sit on my side of the bed, plug my phone into its charger, take a deep breath, and turn to find Adalyn curled up in a ball, her backside to me, her black lace thong burning a hole straight into my soul.

Her ass . . .

Fuck.

Smooth, round, begging for my hands.

No, you’re not going to feel up a woman who’s passed out in your bed. Get ahold of yourself.

I glance at her ass one more time and inwardly grown; there goes the snuggling I had planned. There is no way I’m going to press against her when I have a fucking growing hard-on in my boxer briefs. That just spells out creeper.

Grumbling to myself, I flip off the light and turn away from Adalyn. I try to erase the images of her ass that’s only a foot away from my memory.

This is going to be one long fucking night.

Have you ever had a dream that felt so real? Like it was actually happening in real life?

That’s what is happening to me right now.

I’m in some kind of dream haze where my mind is making everything feel so damn real it actually feels like Adalyn is touching me.

Touching me all over.

Her small, thin fingers running under my pecs, scraping my nipples with her fingernails, pressing her palm against my thick chest.

Her nails scraping down my abs, one divot at a time, making me so damn hard that I can feel a sweat break out over my skin.

Her fingers linger back to my chest where they play with my nipple, causing a groan to erupt from my throat.

Her feather-soft hair tickles my chin, her scent so strong, it feels so real.

Scanning, scraping, touching, exploring, her fingers move up and down my torso, my dick growing harder with every touch until her fingers play with the edge of my waistband, my cock inching to be released.

My hips thrust up, begging, pleading, needing to be satisfied.

Fingernails scrape along the waistband, dipping in right near my cock. So close, so goddamn close.

“Fuck,” I mutter, the sound loud on my ears.

Eyes fluttering open, I notice the light streaming in through the windows of the small cottage, the white curtains barely blocking the morning sun. My body tightens when I shift to the side. My hand is wrapped around Adalyn, my wrist trapped by a piece of fabric, my hand full of soft, luscious skin.

My cock throbs.

My skin tingles.

My breath is erratic.

My balls tighten as innocent fingers continue to play with my boxer briefs.

Trying to blink away the fog I’m in, I realize I wasn’t dreaming. Adalyn is in my arms, my hand is gripping her bare ass, her hair is spread across my shoulder and chest, and her hand is inching closer and closer toward my cock.

But when I think she might be awake, doing some early morning exploring, I look down at her beautifully sweet face and notice her eyes are closed. Eyes closed, mouth barely parted, blissful sleep consuming her.