Page 60 of Arrogant Puck

He closes the bedroom door with a soft click and walks around to the other side of the bed. The mattress dips under his weightas he slips under the covers, and suddenly the king-size bed feels much smaller.

I turn to face him, and we’re close enough that I can see his dark eyes. “Hi.”

He looks down at me, and there’s something soft in his expression that I’ve never seen before. “Hi.”

“Will you sleep okay if I’m here?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Only one way to find out.”

The uncertainty in his voice is surprising. For someone who projects such confidence, such control, he seems genuinely unsure about this. “Do you like to cuddle?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Do you?”

I shrug, suddenly feeling shy. “I guess I don’t know either. Sometimes it just happens, so I was asking if I should expect it while you’re sleeping.”

“Nobody’s ever been in my bed before.”

That stops my breath. I turn to face him fully. “Why?”

“Not my thing.”

“So… I’m your thing?”

He shakes his head, and for a moment I think he’s rejecting the idea entirely. Then he speaks, “No, you are much more than that.”

The smile that spreads across my face is involuntary, warm and genuine. “Goodnight, Slater.”

“Goodnight, Sage.”

I close my eyes, but sleep feels impossible with his presence so close. His breathing is steady beside me, his warmth radiating across the small space between us. I have so many questions, so many things I want to know about him—about his brother in the photo, about why he was prescribed antidepressants, about what made him build walls so high that he’s never let anyone into this space before.

But for now, I just lie here in his silk sheets, listening to him breathe, and try not to think about how right this feels. How safe I feel for the first time in years, lying next to someone who could probably destroy me without breaking a sweat, but he tucks me in like I’m made of glass he doesn’t want to break.

I think I like him just a little more now.

Chapter 22

I wake up slowly, consciousness filtering in through layers of the best sleep I’ve had in years. There’s warmth pressed against my chest, soft curves molded to my body like she was made to fit there. Sage is wrapped around me completely—one leg thrown over mine, her face buried in my neck, her arm draped across my torso.

This is it. This feeling, this rightness. She is the one I’m after. Not just to fuck, not just to possess, but to keep. Forever.

Her in my bed, in my arms, feels like coming home to a place I never knew existed.

Then she shifts in her sleep, and suddenly her hand is moving down my body, slipping beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts. My breath catches as her palm settles directly over mymorning wood, separated only by the thin cotton of my boxer briefs.

Fuck.

I go completely still, my entire body tensing as conflicting impulses war in my chest. Part of me wants to wake her up, wants to show her exactly what her touch does to me. But the larger part—the part that’s been carefully building her trust—knows this could ruin everything.

I don’t want to cross a line with her, especially not when I feel like I just got into good territory. I want her trust more than I want her body, and that realization shocks me.

Her hand starts moving, patting my dick through my underwear like she’s testing the firmness of a pillow. The innocence of the gesture combined with the intimacy of the contact makes my head spin.

“Sage,” I whisper, my voice rougher than I intended. “Sage.” I murmur her name into her hair, hoping to gently pull her from whatever dream she’s having.

Instead, her fingers curl around my length, squeezing gently, and I have to bite back a groan. The pressure is light, exploratory, and completely unconscious, which somehow makes it a thousand times more torturous.

Then her eyes snap open.

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