Page 30 of Rebellious

“I can’t take any more tonight,” I add, picking up the insulin syringe. “Hold your shirt up for me.”

He sighs and meets my eyes. I hold still, making sure he sees the finality of my words. I don’t want to talk about this anymore tonight. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.

Nodding, Bennett lifts the hem of his shirt and I locate the area he cleaned earlier. Pinching his heated skin between two fingers, I whisper, “Look away.”

He doesn’t, like the stubborn ass he is, choosing instead to focus on my face. The weight of his stare sends a flush through my cheeks, but I remain focused, pushing the needle in and injecting the medicine. Finished, I wipe the area and lean back, finding his gaze.

“Stay with me?” he begs.

Damn him.

Closing my eyes, I exhale into his chest and drop my legs from around his waist. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He agrees, like that’s the final word. “I’ll get your pajamas.”

He’s holding my boob like he would a football—firm and confident.

Stretching, I reach slowly for my phone, careful not to wake him. If I don’t document this moment, I’ll literally hate myself for a lifetime.

When the cool metal is clutched in my hand and Bennett is still snoozing behind me, I do a silent fist bump.

A hundred pictures ought to be enough.

Snapping off a few, I add a couple faces of pretend ecstasy for my sick sense of humor. After about the sixtieth shot, Bennett flinches. Welp, party’s over.

“You need a stress ball,” I tell him, giggling as I watch his fingers open up slowly, allowing my tit to drop back into its natural position. “Do you feel better now?”

He ignores me, removing his arm and getting out of bed.

Guess he needs coffee… or a toothbrush?

Regardless, I use the quiet time and flip through the pictures, noting some really frame-worthy ones.

“Here.” He reappears, dropping a marker on the bed. I roll my eyes, picking it up and noting his shirt is already lifted.

Ugh.

“I think we can chalk this up to an accident,” I tell him. “Besides, it’s just a ti—”

“Aspen.” His tone is serious.

I sigh. “Fine. What’s the rule?” I uncap the marker and wait.

He drags his hands over his face and mutters, “You must always wear a bra to bed.”

I rear back. “Ugh, no. Unless you plan to wear one too.” I narrow my eyes. “Do you know how uncomfortable those things are?” I’d like to see his ass sleep in an underwire.

He shakes his head. “Fine. No tit squeezing.”

I grin. “I guess that goes for me too?” I eye the delicious pecs he keeps all to himself.

“Yes, that goes for you too,” he confirms with a flat look.

“Shame,” I mutter. “Monthly breast exams would have been beneficial for the both of us.” Leaning forward, I write the rule on his chest. I don’t expect an answer. He won’t change his mind. And for that reason alone, I’m careful to write over his nipple, so I can touch it one last time.

The action gets a frown and a firm, “Aspen” out of him. Too soon, I’m finished, and I pass over the marker, flopping down onto the mattress in a huff.

Again, he doesn’t react—just continues to hover over me. Unlike him, I don’t lift my shirt. He can do it. He does it better anyway.

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