Page 110 of Trust Me Always

He likes that he’s made them stand to attention.

He lifts his head then, and I can feel his eyes burning into my cheek, but I don’t look away from the TV. No idea what’s on it, but that’s where my eyes remain glued.

His hand leaves my skin, and my chest hollows, willing it back.

And then he flicks my nipple ring.

My entire body spasms, my gasp mixed with a strangled moan loud in the room.

Brady stays perfectly still for a moment before slowly pulling his hand out of my robe.

He grips my hips and shifts me until I’m facing the wall away from him and lies down, pressing at my upper arm for me to do the same.

I do.

Closing my eyes, I try to hide the way I’m breathing, but it’s hard when it’s stuttering and fast.

It takes an embarrassingly long time, but I manage to calm my heart rate back to a reasonable level, and I no longer feel his harsh exhales in my hair either.

Natural reactions, that’s all.

I’m lying so stiffly, so I try to stretch a little, shimmying back, but Brady’s hold on my hip turns to steel, pinning me in place.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “Stay right there.”

My pulse thumps, so easy to read between the lines—I can’t scoot back because if I do, I’ll feel him.

I’ll feel him because he’shard.

I swallow, shifting, but this time so I’m lying on my belly, and slowly, he lets me go, his arm sliding beneath my pillow.

We lie there for several long minutes, and finally, sleep starts to set in again.

“Thank you for coming over, Brady.”

“Don’t thank me for taking care of you.”

I smile to myself, finding his hand under the pillow and pressing mine against it. “You’re really good at it.”

“Good. Then you know what you should expect from a man,” he says quietly. “If he’s anything less than that, he doesn’t deserve you. He’s not worth calling yours.”

Something stirs in my chest, and I welcome the warmth it brings. Eyes closing as I burrow deeper into the pillow. “Good thing I already have a boyfriend, then, huh?”

“Fake boyfriend, Cammie Baby,” he murmurs. “Make sure you demand the same from the real one.”

I try to turn over to face him, something inside me driven with the need to see the expression on his face in this moment, but his arm comes around me again, holding me still.

“Sleep,” he whispers.

I try. I really, really do, but it’s not working.

I have no idea how long it takes, but his breathing grows deeper, and a wave of gratitude hits me.

This man had to be exhausted from two days of travel and a hard-played game, yet he still came here to make sure I was okay.

He’s always there. So attentive.

So responsive.

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