Page 14 of Autumn be His Wife
She’s so deep in her own world that she doesn’t even notice my approach. I move right in front of her, and her gaze doesn’t flicker; she looks straight through me like I’m a ghost.
My chest tightens. I have to reach for her. Disturb whatever is going on in her head.
The second my fingers brush her shoulder, she jolts, a sharp intake of breath breaking her trance. Blinking a few times, she looks surprised to see me.
A laugh escapes me, hardly loosening the knot that’s in my chest. I curl my hand back to my side, my skin tingling where it touched her.
“Sorry. You were a thousand miles away.” I search her face, every instinct telling me to close the distance again. “Everything alright? If you’re worried about—”
“It felt weird helping myself to your space without you in it,” she says, the words rushing out like she’s been holding them in.She uncurls, rising to her feet and forcing me to take a step back. Her eyes find mine, clear and sure now. “I’m comfortable with you, Dusty. I promise.”
The smile she sends my way hits me right in the chest, and it leaves me fighting for my next breath.
Not wanting her to see what kind of state she leaves me in, I turn away. Heading toward my room, she follows close behind, assuring me that Eli’s already tucked away back in his room with each step.
My heart is hammering against my ribs. I changed the sheets. Of course I did. But for a moment, I’d considered not. I’d pictured her asleep in my bed, surrounded by nothing but me, my scent on her skin.
I had to talk myself down from the edge of that particular thought.
Now she’s casually drifting over to one side of the bed, her fingers trailing the blankets with each step. Once more, she looks thoughtful.
If I ask her if she’s sure about this, I’ll sound like a broken record player.
“What is it?” The words leave me, the demand to know what she’s thinking.
Considering her next words, she bites her bottom lip. “I’ve never slept in a bed with a man before. You’re the first, Dusty.”
My earlier, feeble attempts at self-control go up in flames right there on the spot. Heat floods my veins, and my cock, which I’d just managed to relieve, stirs to life beneath the thin layer of my pajama pants.
Pointless. All of it was pointless. She’s innocent personified, standing in the dim light of my room, and she has no idea she’s just dropped a bomb.
I force a breath, trying to sound casual, trying to be the man she thinks I am. “It’s not much different than sleeping alone,” I say, the lie rolling off my tongue.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Sleeping alone brings blissful silence. This will be a sweet, slow torture.
Every shift of her body, every soft sigh in the dark, will make sleeping impossible. Her scent will be on my sheets, in my air, and I will lie there, rigid with want, memorizing every never-ending second.
She just nods, accepting my lie, and crawls onto the bed. Curling beneath the blankets, she nods her head once she’s comfortable.
Knowing what hell I’m about to face, I flip off the light and trudge forward, dreading what’s to come.
6
Piper
Dusty is a liar.
When I close my eyes, sleep doesn’t come. How can it? Every nerve in my body hums with awareness of him lying just an arm’s length away. His breathing fills the space between us, uneven as mine.
Something tells me he’s not sleeping either, that he’s listening to my restlessness with the same desperate attention I’m paying to his.
The thick mattress dips slightly every time he shifts. I count the inches between my shoulder and his—maybe six, maybe less. Close enough that if I turned toward him, if I let myself be brave for just one moment, my fingertips could find the warmth of his arm.
Staring through the darkness above, I focus on anything else. The wind howling outside like some wild thing desperate to get in. Tree branches scrape along the cabin wall with fingernailpersistence, a sound I can blame for my insomnia if I don’t want to be honest with myself.
But honesty sits heavy in my chest tonight. The truth is, I’ve memorized the rhythm of his breathing over the past hour. I know exactly when he holds his breath, when he sighs so quietly I almost miss it.
The cabin feels too small, the air too thin. Every sound amplified—the whisper of sheets when he moves, the soft catch in his throat that makes my pulse stutter.
