Page 23 of King of Clubs

I could smell his masculine ozonic smell and if I wasn’t awake before, I definitely was now. My breathing slowed and I focused on listening to the steady beat of his heart. The sound his hand made as it grazed the fabric of the T-shirt I was wearing.

HisT-shirt.

Faint sounds of music I couldn’t quite make out coming from somewhere in the apartment.

I wanted to taste him. To finish my settling activity with the gustatory pleasures that I imagined his skin to hold. Knowing I was so close and could open my mouth so easily was enough to remind me of exactly where I was and who was holding me.

I shot back, needing space to clear my thoughts before I lost myself entirely in something I wasn’t quite ready for. A body which felt oddly like home, like a favourite old jumper, despite how little I knew him.

But he didn’t let me go.

I tried again to extricate myself from his hold but he kept me to his body, his grip firm but safe. Nothing like the feeling of entrapment I felt only moments ago at the invisible hands I’d imagined.

“Are you okay?” His voice was kind. Patient.

“Yeah,” I breathed timidly. “Sorry about that.” I added, still rubbing my sore wrist with my other hand. I looked towards where it hurt, noticing it was a little red. I averted my gaze knowing if I looked up, I first would see the scrunched brows of concern before that jaw and his damn delicious looking mouth. Meanwhile, I was over here looking like Frankenstein’s bride.

“This is nothing new for me. I have super vivid dreams. I often wake in a cold sweat or short of breath. Not usually next to someone who looks like you…” I trailed off, my breathing still faster than normal killing the confidence I was trying to muster. “The wrist is an old injury though, I must have knocked it in my sleep or something.”

He let me move when I tried for a third time and I could feel his eyes boring into me. Fixing the tangle of hair that had fallen out, I dared a brief look at him. Maybe his face was made of clay and would crack if he softened or maybe I was encroaching on his space and he wished I’d gone home because his face was stern, with what I thought was almost forced apathy. But his eyes betrayed him – they held pity.

He reached for my wrist, his soft touch a curious contrast to his glacial gaze as his thumb tenderly traced the red mark. I couldn’t bear to look at him and see concern or anger in his eyes again. I was tired of being the pathetic victim everyone needed to mollycoddle.

Why was I still even here? The last thing I needed was another man to keep happy and while I appreciated his hospitality I needed to get home. Get some space.

“Is it okay if I just call Arna? I can leave. I’m sorry I disturbed you. I really am okay.” My breathing was increasing again and I began to feel nervous.

Flighty. Trapped.

He moved across the bed, not at all worrying about the sweat he was likely dropping on his fresh linen.

“I’m not upset with you. It pisses me off that you are having nightmares – especially while you’re inmybed.” He ran his hand through his short hair, before gently lifting my chin to look at him. The crook of his finger warm against my skin.

“I don’t want you to feel fear when you’re with me and you most definitely don’t ever need to be afraid of me. But if you need to call Arna, don’t ask. You don’t need my permission.” The sincerity in his words took me by surprise and I had to actively school my features as I nodded.

Contrastingly, his mask was firmly in place but the touch of his finger gently caressing my jaw was sending unbidden signals across my skin.

Kiss me.

The thought came quickly and must have shown on my face because his lips lifted, raising slightly higher on the right side and doing unspeakable things to my heart. Maybe it was the sincerity of his words, the genuine feeling of comfort I felt in a man I didn’t know, but felt was safe all the same. Or maybe it was me throwing caution to the wind and taking risks, anything to not be the mess I am - if only for a second.

Because I wanted him to kiss me.

Ireallywanted him to kiss me.

He moved to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and I inadvertently closed my eyes. I felt his breath linger on my face, minty and cold against my skin. The soft pads of his fingers lightly grazed my cheek and for the briefest second cupped the back of my neck, before his touch was gone and he was retreating with a forced clearing of his throat.

I opened my eyes to him lifting himself off the bed and I was instantly engulfed by embarrassment. I had misread the situation, his words and his intentions. He wasn’t interested; he was babysitting me like a wounded child until Arna came back and he could rid himself of his duty while maintaining a clear conscience. And here I was, practically throwing myself at the first man who paid me heed.

Holy shit – I was a desperate, pitiful loser who had impeded on his entire life and then sought out an amorous distraction. I’d officially hit rock bottom and it was time to get the hell out of here with what was left of my pride.

“I’m just going to finish training, but feel free to take a shower. I’ll cook breakfast soon.” He said, pointing towards the ensuite unable to meet my gaze.

“Rightio,” I replied with fake gusto, making an eeeek face at his retreating form.

For the love of god, somebody shove a sock in my mouth.

Who the fuck saidrightio? And especially after being so tragically rejected.

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