My heart is heavy, knowing that Sam isn’t here to fight bedtime with me. And I can’t help but feel so fucking guilty that I enjoyed myself so much tonight with my son being gone.
I’m a hot mess.
“Hey,” Rhys says quietly as he turns me to him and scoops me up into one of his hugs, rocking me back and forth. “Are you okay?”
I nod, soaking in the warmth of him. I want to invite him in, but I’m not sure that I’m ready to take what happened in the car further.
And yet, I don’t want to be alone.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I pull out of his arms and kiss his cheek. “I’m just a little sad that the house is so quiet without Sam, that’s all.”
His bight green eyes survey my face before nodding. He brushes his fingers down my cheek. “Okay. Good night.”
“Good night.”
He turns to walk away. I hold my breath for about two seconds, then burst out, “Rhys?”
“Yeah?” He turns back to me, concern on his handsome face.
“Um, nothing.” I shake my head and offer him a happy smile. “Never mind.”
But rather than nod and walk away, he saunters back to me, his gaze pinned to mine. Wordlessly, he gently pulls my hair out of its knot and lets it fall around my shoulders, combing it with his fingers.
“Would you stay with me until I fall asleep?” I whisper. He just smiles softly, kisses my forehead, and gestures for me to lead the way into my room.
I’ve never had a man in my bedroom. Never shared my bed with anyone.
Ever. In my life.
The room is dark as I lead the man that puts me on hyper-drive to the edge of my bed. And to my surprise, Rhys calmly unfastens my shorts and lets them drop off my hips to the floor. Then, with his eyes pinned to mine, he pulls my top over my head. He reaches for the tank I sleep in that’s laying at the end of my bed and tugs it over my head, pulls my hair through, and helps me into the bed. I watch with sleepy eyes as he pulls off his T-shirt, steps out of his jeans, and joins me, wearing nothing but snug black boxer-briefs.
And then, to my utter shock, he simply turns me away from him, curls up behind me, and whispers in my ear, “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
“You don’t want to…?”
“For now, this is perfect. I’m just happy to share a pillow with you. Sleep.” He kisses my neck, and his deep, even breathing eventually lulls me to sleep.
***
I wake to hands and lips and heat.
“You’re still here.” My voice is heavy with sleep.
“I fell asleep too.” And his voice is just heavy with sexiness.
Dear sweet Jesus, how do people wake up like this every day? I’d never leave the bed!
Rhys is pressed up behind me, kissing my neck and shoulder. His hand is roaming down my side to my hip, then back up under my shirt over my skin, and every molecule in my body is now awake.
Wide awake.
“Mm, you feel so damn good,” he growls in my ear, his voice still heavy with sleep, and nothing has ever turned me on so quickly. “Do you have any idea how fucking soft your skin is?”
“Mm,” I moan, unable to form words.
Who in the name of all that’s holy can form words when Rhys O’Shaughnessy’s hands are all over them?
Not this girl.
I reach behind me and drag my fingernails up his thigh, over the fabric of his boxer-briefs, his thigh, to his belly, and he bites my earlobe.
“Careful, baby. I’ve been feeling your sexier-than-fuck body against me all night.”
I grin and don’t stop touching him. My panties are soaked. My nipples are hard nubs, rubbing roughly against the bra he didn’t take off of me last night.
I turn onto my back. Rhys’s face is still buried in my neck, kissing, licking, turning me the hell on.
Damn, this man is a master with his lips.
I love the way he feels. He’s not super hairy, with smooth arms and abs, and just a light dusting of hair on his chest that feels amazing under my fingertips.
“You feel good yourself,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder as my hand drifts farther south. I gently wrap my fingers around the length of his dick, over his underwear, then push my hand under the elastic waistband, cup him in my hand and brush my thumb over the tip, wiping away the moisture that’s already gathered there.
“Oh God,” he breathes against my shoulder, then kisses my jaw, my cheek, and finally my lips, cupping my face in his hand. I stroke him more firmly, but still slowly, watching his face as his breathing increases. Sweat forms on his brow. His eyes are closed.
“Look at me,” I whisper against his lips, turning his words back on him. He pins me in his bright green gaze, and I have to clench my own thighs together, shocked at how much making him crazy makes me crazy.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says and kisses me, always watching me as he shifts his hips back and forth, working them down his hips and legs. “God, your hands are—”
He swallows hard, unable to continue. We’re both breathing hard, him naked, me half-dressed and enjoying the way he feels, sounds, smells.
God, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of him.
Suddenly, he grits his teeth, panting, and utters, “Fuck,” as he comes into my hand. He closes his eyes and tips his forehead against my shoulder, his breath shuddering in and out.
Wow.
“Jesus, Gabrielle,” he whispers. “I’ve haven’t come in a woman’s hand since I was a teenager.” He plants wet, firm kisses on my shoulder, my neck. “What are you doing to me?”