LAUREN

 

Tyler was lying on the couch, laptop on his knees, glasses perched delightfully on his nose when I made my way out of the bedroom.

He jumped to his feet immediately. “Lauren, what are you doing out of bed? Are you alright? Can I get you something?”

“I’m fine.” I used those words often. “I just want you to come to bed.”

He frowned. “It’s after midnight. You should be asleep.”

Walking over to him with a crutch either side, I stood before him and balanced on one leg so I could put the crutches down and rest my hands on his chest. “I would be, if I could stop thinking of you out here, wondering what you’re doing, wishing you weren’t doing it.”

Tyler smirked but replied, “You’ll get a better sleep without me.”

I spread my fingers, splaying them over his chest then dragging them over his shoulders and down his sides. “Come to bed?” I pleaded.

“Lauren,” he warned, though his eyes had darkened. “Careful.”

“Of what?” I teased.

“Of what you’re doing.” He removed my hands from his chest. “It hasn't even been two weeks since your accident.”

“It will be tomorrow though.” I tugged my hands out of his grasp and wrapped them around his waist, placing my cheek on his chest and inhaling his scent. It was a bad thing to do. Desire ached between my legs. Genuinely ached. Not like some tingle or a gentle quiver. This was painful. So physically painful I squeezed my legs together in an attempt to relieve the sensation.

Lifting my head, I looked up at Tyler and his hands hovered by my face. He was so gentle. His fingers felt like butterflies kissing my skin. Bending his head, he pressed his lips to mine softly. Gently. Just a tease. I moaned. Not quite a sound of longing, but some guttural cry of desperation. Tyler increased the pressure of his hands on the sides of my face. He increased the passion in his kiss. His mouth moved over mine, nipping at the fullness of my bottom lip. I wished I wasn’t balanced so precariously, I wished I could lift into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist.

But then Tyler pulled away, careful to move his hands from my face to my side, always hovering, always close so I could lean on him.

Tilting his head, his lips brushed against my ear as he whispered, “I’m afraid of what I’ll want to do if I sleep beside you.”

“I’m afraid of what I’ll do if you won’t.”

Cupping my face again, Tyler laughed. “Okay, you win.” Bending down, he scooped me into his arms, carrying me back into the bedroom. “But you will not tempt me, Lauren Greer. We will not be having any sort of sex until we get the all clear from the doctor.”

“Tyler!” I exclaimed. “The doctor isn’t going to tell us when we can have sex again.”

“Well, I’ll ask him.”

“Like hell you will.”

He placed me on the bed gently and pulled the blankets to cover me.

“I feel fine,” I insisted. Sure, I still got the odd twinge of pain and my muscles wouldn't cooperate like they were supposed to, but overall, I was feeling good. Awkward, but good.

“You can wait,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away.

“Hey,” I called after him. “You promised to sleep with me.”

Walking back into the room, Tyler pulled his shoes off and paired them together beside the bed. “And I will. I was just powering down the laptop.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling slightly foolish.

Tyler hadn’t changed since coming home from work. His tie was off, his shirt was loose and hanging out from his tailored pants. Waiting for him to undo the buttons and for his shirt to come off was torture. I wished I could rise to my knees and rip it from him. Press him to the bed, climb on top and devour him. But he took his time, placing his shirt and his pants neatly over the back of the chair before sliding into bed naked. Naked. It was like he was teasing me.

I wanted to turn to him but it still hurt to lie on my left side. I would have to content myself with conversation instead.

“What you thinking about?”

“Christmas,” he replied. He placed his hands behind his head, his chest rising and falling. “Dad and Billie have invited us to their place for Christmas dinner. Your parents and sister too. Do you know what their plans are?”

Christmas was less than a week away and Mother had been calling repeatedly to ask my plans. It was tradition for me to spend it with them and I wanted to keep up that tradition, but I also wanted to spend it with Tyler. In the new year, I would return to my house where Sadie and Smudge were waiting. I would return to work. To normality. The Tyler bubble which I had promised myself not to get caught in again, would be burst.

“They want me to come home.”

“Do you think they’d consider coming up here? I could call them. I’m sure I could convince old Clementine, but I wouldn’t like to do that without checking with you first.”

He was learning. “Actually, I think that would be good. And if you ask Mother, she’s far less likely to insist I go down there for it.”

“And what about Peta?”

“What about her? She’ll have her own family to spend Christmas with.”

“But what about afterwards? I was thinking that maybe I could use my influence to get them a night or two at the casino. They could come up for New Year. Have a break away from the kids.”

“She would love that!” I squealed, genuinely excited by the thought. “I will call Mark tomorrow and see if we can organise it to be a surprise. I’ll have to let Shrek in on the secret though. There is no way in hell we could organise it without his help. She’s like a bloodhound, that one. Sniffs out a secret in seconds.”

Tossing one of his pillows onto the chair beside his bed, Tyler leaned in for a quick kiss before turning off the light. I lay in the dark and listened to his breathing. Always a restless sleeper, I knew it would take a while before he fell asleep, so we lay in silence, the odd distant sound of traffic the only noise to break the stillness. I wondered if he was lying there, thinking about touching me as much as I was about touching him. To have him so close was almost as bad as having him in the next room. The memories of all the times he had taken me in this bed rose to mind. I couldn't help but imagine what he must look like beneath the sheets. He was lying on his back—that much I could tell. One arm would be bent at the elbow, his hand tucked behind his head. The other would probably be resting on his chest. His left knee was raised slightly, I could tell by the rise of the sheets, and the other was bent towards me. My thoughts drifted higher up his body, and I pondered whether he was soft or hard, or somewhere in-between. I wondered if our kiss had aroused him or if he was determined in his refusal not to touch me. I wonder if it would be slumped to the side, resting on his thigh, or if it would be stretched towards his stomach, pressed down by the weight of the covers.

I was desperate.

I couldn't lie on my side and turn towards him, so I crept my hand across the mattress until I touched the flesh of his side. He didn't react. His breathing remained the same. He stayed silent. But he also didn't stop me. Splaying my fingers, I moved them over his smooth skin, marvelling in the dips and swells of the muscles in his abdomen, then trailing them down further until I brushed the coarse hair that graced his pelvis.

He breathed in slowly and deeply. I heard the constriction of his throat as he swallowed. I ventured further, until I found him, hard and heavy. Wrapping my hand around him elicited a growl. A sudden exhale of air. A tightening of his muscles.

Still, he didn’t stop me.

So I began to stroke, relishing the way he felt in my hand, the hardness of him, the thickness and the fullness. How I wished I could move more freely. I longed to take him in my mouth.

With a suddenness that surprised me, he turned, falling from my hand. The bed dipped as he rose to his knees and tossed the blankets away, leaving me lying in nothing but a t-shirt and soaked underwear. Without a word, he climbed over me, careful not to touch, careful not to cause me any discomfort. With his legs pressed either side of my body, he held himself above me, hands either side of my shoulders. The heat of him invaded my senses as he lowered himself, still not enough for his body to be pressed against mine, but close enough to dip his mouth and taste my lips. Close enough that his cock pressed against my belly. My kiss was feverish, lips fumbling against his in desperation. Reaching between our bodies, I grasped hold of him and he rewarded me with one of those groans that sent sharp spikes of desire into my deepest parts. Pushing my head back into the pillow, I arched, my body reaching for his. But instead of lowering himself to greet me, he roughly caught my bottom lip between his teeth. A warning I wasn’t sure if I wanted to ignore or obey.

His body trembled with need. It vibrated through the mattress as he rested on one hand and reached between us, pulling my grasp from his cock. Tugging me, he pressed my arm into the bed, applying extra force with his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

“Stay,” he ordered.

And then his hand was gone from mine, snaking between us again and taking hold of himself, guiding himself to rub over my wetness. He stroked himself back and forth, his weight still held above my body, touching only where he slid himself over me. Even his mouth hovered over mine without touching. More an exchange of breath than a kiss. My breathing quickened and I began to pant as the sensation of him sliding across me increased in tempo. He was pleasuring himself and pleasuring me with the same movement. Sheets curled beneath my fingers as I gripped them, needing something, anything to hold. My head rose off the pillow, pressing my forehead to his as I hungrily searched for his mouth, but he pulled away, leaving his head pressed against mine but my mouth untouched, save for the slightest whisper of breath.

When I came undone he swallowed my cry, finally bringing his mouth down onto mine as he jerked a final time and his seed spilt over me, hot and wet.

He still trembled when he lifted himself and climbed from the bed. Light spilt across the floor as he entered the bathroom and returned moments later with a damp washcloth.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was dark and blunt as he wiped across the round of my stomach and down further, cleaning himself from me.

“Hurt me?” I repeated, still coming down from the dizzying high. “You barely touched me.”

“Are you sure?”

I reached up, the shadow of his face visible in the dim light that stretched from the open door, and cupped his cheek with my hand. “I adore you, Tyler Thornton,” I whispered into the night.