Page 133 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“Teagan’s tutu,” he breathes. “Pink tutu.”

“Uh, sorry?”

“It’s at the buffet.”

I stare up at the ceiling, trying to stifle a giggle. I remember him speaking gibberish last night; Killian is a sleep-talker, it seems. He only had a few beers last night, but he must have conked out cold. He never stays the night with me. Each time he shuts my studio door behind him, I’m reminded of the uncertain nature of our relationship; it almost makes me feel like a prostitute, considering he supplies me with a credit card.

I tilt my head, trying not to make any movement, but it’s hard when his face is buried in the crook of my neck.

The clock reads six o’clock, making me an hour late for work. He’s late too. He said he can’t sleep past five, yet here he is, snoring and talking shit in his sleep.

So he is human.

Is it okay to tell your boss you’re late for work because he’s on top of you?

As if sensing my thoughts, his thigh tightens around me, and the cage gets smaller. He stirs, and I can feel something hard against my leg. Is that…?

Yes, my boss’s hard dick is against my leg.

Heat floods my body, a weird combo of arousal, warmth radiating from Killian wrapped around me, and nerves at what he’s going to say when he wakes up to find he’s slept over.

I angle my head to get a better view of his handsome face. He has such a masculine profile. The sexy scar running through his thick brow, the strong nose, his powerful jaw, his luscious mouth—which is just as appealing whether he scowls or smiles. The formula makes for a beautiful man.

His blue eyes are hidden beneath thick lashes, and his mouth hangs open slightly. He looks more vulnerable when sleeping, like his tough exterior has dissipated.

I can study him now without hiding my feelings on my face.

Sadness washes over me. I know what we’re doing won’t last; it’s a fling, and it’ll be over when I leave this townhouse. I’m not naive. I thought I’d accepted that. I thought I could live in the moment. It’s what I tell myself every day.

Yet I can’t help the pang in my chest when I think of our expiry date.

I don’t want to let you go.

At least when Killian and I part ways, I’ll be left with one positive—I know Icanorgasm with a guy. At least when he uses a skilled tongue.

“Are you watching me sleep?”

I stiffen beneath him. “No. How would you even know that? Your eyes are closed.”

His lips curl into a smile as he slowly opens his eyes. As he stirs, his hard cock presses more firmly against my thigh, rousing him fully from sleep. “I can feel you watching me.”

“Not in a stalker way,” I huff, wriggling beneath him. “You know you talk in your sleep, right?”

I study him, waiting for a reaction. Relief floods me when he doesn’t freak out about the fact we spent all night together.

“Did I say anything interesting?” he asks, his voice drugged with sleep.

“Something about Teagan’s pink tutu.”

“Ah, sounds like I was stuck in the last decade. Teagan hasn’t worn a pink tutu since she was four.” His mouth brushes softly against my neck.

Does he not care that he spent the night in my bed while Teagan is upstairs? I thought he hated the idea. I expected him to leap out of bed like he was in the military. Instead, he slowly lifts himself onto his forearms with a grunt.

“It’s already six o’clock,” I croak, waiting for him to freak out. “You overslept. And I’m late for work.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmurs in my ear, his face close to mine. “What excuse are you going to tell your boss?”

Have little green leprechauns taken over Killian?

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