Come to Me Quietly(27)

Was she completely oblivious to what she was doing to me? Every time she moved, her chest brushed against my knees, and damn, if it wasn’t the greatest temptation I’d ever had to endure. Did she know how badly I wanted to touch her? To take a little more? Maybe take it all? My thoughts raced ahead, and I wondered what she’d do if I edged off the couch and laid her back on the floor. Would she stop me? Or would she allow me to feed off her compassion and goodness? Would she let me wreck her? Destroy her? Because that was the only thing I knew how to do.

I sucked in a breath and held it. No f*cking way was I going there. Not with her, even if she was the only girl who’d ever made me feel like I had to have her. The first who’d ever made me want. That in itself was a pretty damned good reason to stay away from her.

That and the fact that she was Aly.

My Aly.

She sat back on her haunches. Her smile was soft when she looked up at me. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”



“Thank you,” I said honestly, because it’d been a long time since anyone had taken care of me. It hurt to think of the last time someone had.

“You’re welcome.” Her voice was quiet, and she sat there, just staring at me, a lot like we had last night, although now things seemed completely different.

“You’d better get some rest. It’s really late,” I said. I’d lain flat out on the hard ground for hours while I let myself sober up to the point where I could at least get myself back to the apartment, and I hadn’t come crawling up the stairs until three in the morning.

“Yeah, you’d better, too.” She sounded a little disappointed.

Her delicate hands pressed into the couch on the outside of my legs as she helped herself to stand. This time her hair did brush against my chest. We both froze at the contact, and she looked down at me, her face three inches from mine. She hovered there, her eyes searching.

Motherf*cking trigger.

I wet my lips and found my voice, although it was heavy with strain. “Please go to your room, Aly.”



Blinking, she nodded before she pushed herself the rest of the way up. She paused at her door, whispered, “Good night,” and then disappeared inside her bedroom.

The next Friday night I sat at the round kitchen table across from Christopher, drinking a beer while I got my ass kicked at poker.

I folded and Christopher leaned over the table. With his forearm, he swept the pile of coins and one-dollar bills to his side. “Easy money,” he drawled, taunting me.

“Yeah, ’cause you’re a f*cking cheater.” I laughed as I tipped my beer to my mouth.

“Nah, man, you just suck… or have really bad luck, one of the two.”



Now, bad luck was something I’d definitely feel comfortable putting money on.

“You want to go another round?” he asked as he began shuffling the cards.

“Sure. Why not?” I tossed my ante into the center of the table. It wasn’t as if I had all that much to lose. “You know if you win too much of my money, you’re never going to get my ass off your couch.” Of course, I was joking. I’d just been too lazy to start looking for my own place in the last week. Or maybe it was just that I liked being here, which I really didn’t want to admit to myself because getting too comfortable here was really f*cking foolish.

Christopher started dealing the cards. “Nah, man, don’t feel like you have to rush right out and get a place of your own. I like having you around. This summer sucked until you got here.”