Page 21 of Feathers From the Sky

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Thanks for driving me home.” I reach for my phone, about to call him a car to take him back to his place.

“Don’t apologize. Tell me what else happened,” he says, squeezing my thigh. His eyes twinkle in my porch light, like moonlight on dark water. I’m tempted to gently caress his pretty cheek. He smirks, and I wonder if he knows what I’m thinking.

“The one she showed me was from when you yanked my head back after I pulled your leg hairs.” I giggle, and he squeezes again, hard enough to smart. I laugh harder. “You can see my neck and a whole lot of cleavage, but your giant boner is what she pointed at, so I’m going to blame you.” I glare at him, and he’s still smirking. His face softens after a moment though, and it looks like pity. I can’t help it as I continue to ramble. “They didn’t care when that first set went viral, and the ones Clarke posted back then were far more scandalous. Josh probably only called Donna because you were in them.” I close my eyes and tilt my head back again.

“Josh? Your ex?”

“Yeah. He got me the job,” I mumble, not sure how much time has passed, as exhaustion gnaws at my sensibility. I know I need to get out of the car and seek the comfort of my warm bed, but I can’t help wanting to soak in his company before I ruin it all. Before he realizes what everyone else does eventually.

I am no fucking good.

I watch him as my head lolls against the seat.

“Sleep, Gwyn,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

* * *

My knees fall apartas Roman slips into the cradle of my thighs, his lips pressed firmly against mine. His hard cock rubs against me, my tender flesh sensitive to every movement. He is starving as he rubs his hands down my sides, searching for sustenance in my skin. I open my eyes, and the ceiling is spinning. I gasp for air, inhaling sharply as his hips punch forward and he slams into me. I cry out, wrapping my legs around him. His lips dip to my ear, and his teeth move gently to tug on the lobe. There is a ringing in my ears as shivers race down my spine, and I feel every goosebump. He angles his hips to push deep inside me, and I am melding with him and I am crying and I don’t know why.

“Careful, sweetheart. Can’t have you falling in love,” he says, his beard rubbing against my neck. I cannot stop the sobs falling from my lips as he continues his motions, and the ringing in my ears gets worse, my head beginning to ache.

“Stop,” I pant, close to finishing, but I can’t catch my breath. He pulls away from me, and I am repulsed when I see Josh’s light brown hair. He is laughing at me as I stare in horror. I push him off me, and I lay there in the dark, trying to catch my breath. When I open my eyes, he’s gone, and it’s daytime. Sun filters in through my curtains, and I roll away from it. I can still feel the salty residue of tears on my face—real, despite the dream. I exhale a shaky breath, grateful Josh wasn’t real.

I try to be thankful Roman was not real, but I don’t know if I am.

I grab my phone and panic when I realize it’s 9 a.m. but am partially relieved when I remember I have no job to be at. I rub the bleariness of sleep from my eyes and notice I have a missed call and text from Hale.

Why the fuck is there a seven foot tall bikerjack in our kitchen?

I snort at his description of Roman but my eyes widen once the words make sense. I hear Sasha yelling at me in my head and know she’s right. Somehow, I’m being more reckless than I have been the entire past year. I sit up, unnerved by my missing stockings and skirt, worried that perhaps my dream was real, but I am assuaged by the same underwear and shirt I’d worn to the bar. Rolling over, I see the other side of my bed is undisturbed. Zuul eyes me from his spot at the end of my bed, curled up with his chin resting on his paws. He casts a wary eye in my direction.

“Don’t judge me, pup,” I say as I reach over to scratch between those big ears. When I see my bedroom door is locked, I huff a laugh. As if a flimsy piece of metal is enough to keep that giant of a man out. I stretch, grateful for a slow morning, but then grimace when I remember why I don’t have anywhere important to be. Other than out in my kitchen, investigating the smell of breakfast which is certainly not Hale’s cooking.

I decide to take a quick shower because Roman has changed my plans for the day, and I don’t want to go anywhere while I smell like a distillery. I’m surprised I’m not hungover, all things considered. As I let the water roll down my back, I turn on my music and text Hale back.

I didn’t sleep with him.

Don’t shower text me. Hurry the fuck up.

I smile and do as I’m told, not lingering beneath the water for more than ten minutes. I throw on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt and toss my wet hair up in a ponytail. Rubbing on my moisturizer before I put on tinted lip balm and mascara, I force myself not to do my full makeup routine. A very intimidating man who is more handsome than he has any right to be waits for me in the kitchen, but I don’t want to take too long.

When I come out and hear Hale chatting with Roman, I’m surprised. My roommate scowls at me while Roman’s back is turned, and I make a face, cringing at the predicament.

“Morning.” Roman’s low voice flips something over in my stomach as he turns around. He wipes his hands on a dish towel, tossing it over his shoulder, and something primitive in me stirs. He’s the rugged man in a Christmas romcom, cooking dinner with his sleeves rolled up to show his bulging forearms. I want to lick each tattoo which graces his skin, and I know I’m fucked. He eyes me appreciatively, gaze going to my hips before he turns to take the skillet off the burner.

“Morning,” I say quietly, casting a small smile in his direction.

“You didn’t have much in the way of breakfast food, so you get bacon and toast,” he says, and I watch him silently as he plates up my food. I don’t know if I should apologize to him for last night. I hadn’t asked him to come, but he did get Dad’s car home for me at least.

“Thanks for bringing me and the car home last night. I’m sorry,” I say as I sit beside Hale. “I don’t remember falling asleep. Did I not order you an Uber?”

“By the time I got you to bed, I realized you never submitted the request. When I tried to order one, I fell asleep on your couch waiting for it to get here.” He looks sheepish as he rubs his chin. “Greg in his red Nissan got stood up.”

I’m distracted by his beard, remembering how it felt against my neck and wanting to know its touch on my inner thighs.

“There goes your rating,” I joke. “Thank you for getting me inside.”

Hale gets up, snagging a piece of my bacon from the plate Roman slides over to me. “I have to shower in like four minutes so I won’t be late to work,” he says, glowering at me. “Bye, Roman!”

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