Page 20 of Flawed

I rise, stating, "If you need anything, just yell."

She furrows her forehead. "Didn't we already establish my couch isn't a good place to sleep?"

I take a few deep breaths, trying to navigate the mixed messages she's sending me.

She surprises me further and lifts the covers. She pats the space next to her. "This will have to do for now. I don't have a guest room. And I know I haven't said it, but I appreciate you taking care of me."

"I'll always take care of you. If you let me," I declare and refrain from leaping over the bed.

Nervousness fills her face. I assume it's because she's so young and no one's ever taken care of her.

Several more minutes pass. I stay frozen, as does she.

Humor finally replaces the nerves. She teases, "You'd prefer a lumpy, stinky couch?"

My body relaxes, and I chuckle. "Nope."

She motions to the mattress. "Then why don't you get in before I change my mind?"

I blurt out, "Do you remember what I said before I took a shower?"

Red creeps into her cheeks. She nods. "Yes."

"It still stands," I warn.

She turns quiet again. The nerves swirl against her desire for me. It's the same look I saw the night we got together, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to make her mine again.

I confess, "I don't know why you hate me, but the last thing I want is for you to hate me more."

She deeply exhales, admitting, "I don't hate you, Luca."

I snort. "Sure have me fooled."

"I don't," she insists.

More time passes. The clock in the room ticks louder and louder until I cave. I walk around the bed, toss the towel on the floor, and slide under the covers. I tug her into my arms, stroke my fingers over her hip, then kiss her forehead. I mumble, "Don't do anything besides sleep, stellina. Don't look up at me with those big green eyes or drape those gorgeous limbs of yours any tighter around me. If you do, I won't be able to maintain my gentleman status anymore."

Her hot breath permeates my pec. She slides her thumb over my other one. The scent of her strawberry shampoo wafts in my nostrils. My raging hard-on hurts, and I curse myself for not choosing the lumpy, stinky couch.

Time seems to not move, but I know it does because that damn clock won't shut up. The tick, tick, tick drives me insane. I stare at the ceiling, fighting the urge to make a move on her.

"Why aren't you married? Are you one of those guys who are against it?" she quietly asks.

Shocked by her question, I freeze, then answer, "I'm not opposed to marriage."

"Have you ever been?"

"No," I honestly state.

She tightens her leg around mine and it brushes against my cock.

I close my eyes and lick my lips, digging into the limited willpower I have left.

She interrogates, "Then why aren't you?"

I slide my hand through her hair and trace her ear with my thumb, replying, "I take marriage seriously. It's for life. I never found the right woman, so I never asked anyone."

"What about kids?" she questions.

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