Page 28 of Night So Silent
Slowly, he turns around, his expression unchanging.
Well, I can’t stop now…
“I mean, this is your bed. And I know you a little better now, so I don’t mind sharing. Strictly platonic, of course. That way, I’m not totally inconveniencing you. Unless you’d prefer that I sleep on the sofa tonight, which I really don’t mind doing.” There, that’s as professional as I can make it sound.
Sergei studies me from across the room, not moving or making a sound. Finally, he shuts the door again and meandersback across the room to the opposite side of the bed. He tosses the covers back and climbs in, holding my eyes before reclining on the mattress.
“Just don’t knife me in my sleep,” he says with nonchalance.
My eyes dart up in surprise. He stares back as he adjusts his pillow, but I see something different this time. A shred of what appears to be humor hides behind his icy blue irises. But he doesn’t laugh, only holds my gaze in the corner of his eye until he sinks onto the pillow and closes his eyes.
“Stay on your side and I won’t have to,” I mumble back, settling into my side of the bed.
But I don’t know why I’m surprised. Iwouldoffer to share a bed with a man who cracks jokes about his mother murdering a pedophile.
That just figures.
???
It takes me forever to fall asleep. My mind is racing and I can’t calm myself, pouring over every random thought and worst-case scenario that enters my mind.
I’m still bummed about having to leave Brett and her family. I know I’m not at her house, but somehow just being in the same town makes it feel like I still haven’t left her. I’m stressed out about my job, wondering if I’ll even have one by the time I get home, all because of my shitty boss. And then there’s still the odd incident with my house, where Clay said it felt like someone broke in. But he, Declan, and Bailey are there now, so maybe I can rest assured my house isn’t being pillaged.
Scratch that—my refrigerator and pantry are another story.
But, still, there’s something else. And the more I think about it, the more I hate what it is.
Sergei lays a safe distance away on the opposite side of the king size bed, his broad shoulders gently rising and falling as he slumbers. I never could've anticipated the intense disappointment of him climbing into the same bed and actually staying on his side. It’s like steeling myself for the potential assholery has given way to some bizarre attraction.
I guess it’s notsobizarre. He does look like some kind of mythical Norse god. More Thor than Sasquatch. But mythology be damned, I’m firmly anti-man right now. No boys allowed. Do not touch. Social distancing without the social. I don’t care if we shared personal stories over an afternoon of chess.
The universe, however, continues to laugh in my face.
I don’t know what time it is, but it’s still dark when I open my eyes. I start to roll over, but in my foggy state, something is quite literally holding me back. Sergei’s arm is laying across the empty space in the middle of the bed, his hand flung haphazardly over my hips. I let out an exasperated breath as I start to figure out how to free myself. Can I even lift it? It’s the diameter of a small tree trunk. But when I sink back down onto the mattress, his wrist settles low on my belly and the rest of his hand even lower. A ripple runs through my gut as his fingers brush the top of my thigh and I freeze.
I need to get his arm off me. Granted, I don’t know why I care. I should just hurl it off me and let him deal with getting back to sleep. But, instead, I still for a moment, my fingers resting on his. Then they slowly begin to move up his wrist and over his arm, taking in the texture of his skin and fine hair over the contours of his muscles. I could wake him up. I wonder what he'd do. But if I don’t, I won’t have to deal with any uncomfortable responses.
The fact remains that I need to get his arm off of me. I place my hand on his forearm, trying to figure out the best grip without waking him up. But, as soon as I do, I freeze again.Gently, I start to move my hand down, over the top of Sergei’s. When I do, his fingers softly press into the most sensitive part between my thighs. He’s dead to the world, but the weight of his arm only amplifies the sensation on my pelvis, and I feel my abs curl to the feel of him against me. With a feather touch, I do it again…and again. It’s like a pulse, electrifying my nerve endings and slowly building like waves lapping at a beach.
And it’s wholly inappropriate.
I glance to the side, at the edge of his face, turned away while his hair splays out across the pillow and his broad chest rises and falls in even breaths. My fingers start to move, slowly and gently, the longer I look at him.
Just wake him up. Just to see what he’ll do…
No. For some reason, Sergei seems different. I could wake up someone like Harrison, who would probably jump in his car at the sight of an unsolicited tit pic. But I don’t think Sergei would. I think he’d look at it and then study the photo arrogantly while deciding whether it’s worth his time. A tremor runs down my thighs at the thought of it—of him debating whether to make a move.
Because if he did, I bet it would be mind-blowing.
My fingers pulse against his with all the force of a butterfly’s wings, and the near undetectable sensation keeps growing. I clench my teeth and steady my breathing—up and down, up and down, until I lose track of time. The sensation compounds until my core is throbbing, inching closer to the edge. Then, in an instant, I dig my heels into the bed and slowly push his hand further down between my thighs as the shock rolls through my body, my muscles contracting at the mere thought of him touching me.
I clench my teeth, trying to stay still while I ride out the orgasm in silence, in this dark cave on a mountain while he sleeps right next to me. My heart pounds as I focus on mybreathing, my muscles relaxing by the second. Until, finally, I open my eyes. The room is still dark, stillsilent.
With a humiliating combination of satisfaction and utter shame, I let out a breath and roll away from Sergei’s arm, no longer concerned whether it wakes him up. The movement makes him stir, but only to roll his head back and forth once before calming again.
And that’s exactly what I need to do, too—calm the fuck down again.
???
