Page 57 of Wrecked
“Argh!” Shoving back the sheet, she stomped out to the kitchen to get a drink. It was impossible to lay there with everything spinning around in her head. Leaning against the bench, she sipped her water and stared out the window—across the lot to his apartment. The lights were out.
He was more than likely sleeping like a baby.
While she paced around her house like a crazy person. “Well, screw that.” She wouldn’t let him give her a piece of himself, then pull back. Putting her glass in the sink, she grabbed her robe from her room, slipped it on, and stepped out the back door.
The asphalt felt warmth under her feet, still holding heat from another scorching day, and she winced when a stone dug into her heel. But she wasn’t going back for shoes. She might chicken out if she did.
Jogging up the stairs to his apartment, she knocked on the door. Nothing. She knocked again, but all remained silent beyond the door.
Crap.
Her foot bumped into something when she tried to peer in the window—the potted plant Alex had bought and kept by the door. The sad-looking thing’s sole purpose had been a hiding place for her spare key. Her friend had a habit of losing them, a lot. Lifting the pot, Piper smiled when a key gleamed up at her from the saucer beneath.
Sliding it into the lock, she opened the door and stepped inside before she could change her mind. She knew the layout like the back of her hand, so she didn’t bother with lights and moved further into the apartment.
“Cole?” She called his name several times on the way to the bedroom. The guy was an ex-cop after all, she didn’t want him freaking out and pulling a gun on her or something.
A low moan drifted through the quiet apartment, and she froze in her tracks. Another followed, but this time accompanied by a thumping sound. For one horrified moment she thought he had someone with him. But his was the only voice she heard, and the next sound he made was so full of agony she knew he must be dreaming.
She pushed the door to his room open and stepped inside. Moonlight streamed in through the small window above the bed, lighting up the room. Cole lay on his back, chest bare and glistening with sweat, body straining and thrashing. The sheet had tangled low around his hips.
Moving on autopilot, she approached the bed, calling his name as she went. But he couldn’t hear her, lost in his nightmare. She sat on the edge of the bed. “Cole? Wake up.”
His body tensed, his thrashing and moaning eased, but he was still asleep, still fighting his dreams.
What should she do? She couldn’t just leave without waking him first. That would be totally weird, right? Weirder than sneaking into his apartment while he slept?
Not wanting to startle him, but wanting to end the nightmare haunting him, she touched his shoulder. His skin was hot, slick. “Cole, wake up,” she whispered again. His fight eased further.
She lightly stroked his cheek and down his neck, then unable to help herself, she rounded the bed and slipped in behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It’s just a bad dream. I’m here. It’s all right.” Speaking in what she hoped was a soothing tone.
His breathing slowed, and she watched, nerves dancing in her belly, as his lashes fluttered once, then opened. She sucked in a sharp breath when his head turned to her, eyes black in the moonlight.
He stared at her but didn’t speak. He also didn’t tell her to stop touching him.
She traced the jagged scar running down the side of his whiskered cheek to his jaw. He shuddered, and she couldn’t help but carry on her exploration, letting her palm smooth over the hard planes of his bare chest.
His tongue darted out, swiping across his lower lip, dampening it. His gaze slowly moved down, and his nostrils flared, heat filling his inky stare. She followed his gaze. Her robe hung open, the pink satin nightie she wore plunged low, revealing the swell of her breasts and her hard nipples straining against the fabric. She trailed her hand down further, to explore the enticing grooves of his abs, but his fingers wrapped around her wrist. “What are you doing, Piper?”
She looked up at him. “Touching you.” She barely recognized her own voice, husky and low, filled with need.
That dark gaze faltered, but stayed locked on her. “Why?”
Surely he knew. How could he not? She told him the truth. “I can’t stop myself.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, his body still as he watched her. Time seemed to grind to a halt. He was silent so long she thought he might tell her to leave.
But then he lifted a large hand, curving it around the back of her neck. “Then kiss me, sweet girl.”
She could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand, his chest rising and falling with his labored breaths. Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his. The heat of his lips settled under hers, whiskers tickling, making her skin tingle. His hands smoothed over her hips, her waist, and he pushed her robe off her shoulders.
“God, you’re so perfect, Piper. So beautiful,” he rasped against her lips, then his hands were under her nightie, lifting it up and off.
He rolled her to her back and slid his thigh between hers, covering her. His skin was warm and smelled like clean sweat and the soap he used. She clung tighter, unable to get enough of him. He trailed heated kisses over her shoulder, her neck, while he slid her underwear down her thighs. She shoved her hands down the back of his boxer briefs and tried to do the same, desperate for him.
“Please,” she begged.
He sucked and kissed the skin behind her ear. “Are you wet for me?”
