Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I laugh a little. “I feel better.”
But I’m still tired. Bone-deep tired.
He notices immediately. “Feet hurt?”
“My whole body hurts,” I admit.
He pats the couch beside him. “Come here.”
I hesitate, not because I don’t want to—but because I want to too much.
He softens his tone. “Let me help, Holley.”
I cross the room. When I sit, he gently lifts one of my feet into his lap. I should protest. I should say he doesn’t need to do this.
Instead, my breath shudders out as his thumbs press into my arch.
“Oh… god,” I whisper.
He chuckles low, like he enjoys the sound. “That good?”
“Better than good.”
His hands are strong, sure, the kind of touch that knows how to take care, not take advantage. He works each knot, each tense line of muscle, with slow, deliberate pressure that sends warmth spiraling up my legs.
I sink deeper into the cushions, eyelids fluttering.
“You’re falling asleep,” he murmurs.
“No,” I try to argue, though it sounds like a dream talking. “I’m— I’m awake.”
He moves to the other foot, and that’s the last thing I remember.
I wake to the sound of my alarm. My alarm. I’m groggy.
My eyes snap open. I’m on my couch, wrapped in a soft blanket that smells like my home and something distinctly him. The fire is low embers now, glowing faintly. My phone is on the table beside me, exactly where he must’ve placed it.
Panic flares—I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.
I sit up quickly, heart racing.
My chest tightens. Not with fear. Not with embarrassment. With something warmer. Softer. More dangerous.
Yearning.
I curl my fingers around the blanket, lifting it to my chin, inhaling the scent that somehow already feels safe.
I haven’t felt safe in a long time.
Footsteps sound from the kitchen, slow and unhurried, like he isn’t surprised to find me still here.
“Morning, trouble,” he calls softly. “Sleep okay?”
My throat closes around the word I haven’t been able to say in months.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Because somehow in his warmth, in his quiet care, I finally, finally did.
Eleven
Stud
The storm brings down inches of snow like when I was a kid in Ohio. North Carolina mountains get plenty of snow, but this blizzard was unexpected. Two days together in this small space together, I’m surprised I haven’t gone stir crazy. Then again, I’m enjoying my company and truly relaxing in this space with her.
The first thing I register when I wake is the quiet.
Then the warmth.
Holley is still asleep on the couch—soft breaths, tangled hair, wrapped in my blanket like she belongs in it. The sight hits me low and hard. I didn’t mean to watch her sleep last night, but hell, something about the peace on her face made it impossible to walk away.
She finally slept.
That’s all I wanted.
I slip toward the bathroom, giving her the rest she damn well deserves, and turn the shower on hot. Steam fills the stall fast, curling along the ceiling. I step under the spray, letting the heat crash over me, loosening muscles I didn’t even know were tight. My hands rake through my hair as I tilt my face up into the water.
I’m just starting to wake up when I feel it.
A prickle—awareness—like I’m being watched.
I turn slowly.
She’s standing in the doorway.
Bare feet. My blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Hair messy from sleep and eyes… fixed on me—wide, sleepy, hungry in a way she tries to hide but can’t.
Her gaze drops.
Yeah. That’s right, sweetheart.
A slow smirk spreads across my face. “See something you like, Holley?”
Color blooms across her cheeks, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t deny it. Her fingers tighten on the blanket, knuckles pressing white fabric.
I take a step closer inside the shower, water running down my chest. “You keep staring at me like that, baby, and I’m gonna think you’re enjoying the view.”
Her mouth parts, breath hitching. Damn, I love that sound.
“Tony,” she whispers back, like she’s trying to warn me—or herself.
Too late.
I drag my palm covered in a soapy lather down my chest, muscles flexing on purpose now. If she’s going to look, I’m giving her something to look at. “If you want something,” I murmur, voice dropping into that low register that always slips out around her, “come get it.”
Her eyes fly up to mine.
I hold her there. No pressure. No pushing. Just invitation.
Holy hell, the way her chest rises—slow, shaking slightly—tells me everything.
She drops the blanket.
It pools at her feet without a sound. She slips out of her oversized sweat pants and tank top before sliding out of her black satin panties.
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
She stands there in nothing. Vulnerable. Soft.
Mine? Maybe not yet. But God, she could be.
Her voice is barely audible. “You sure?”
I grip the shower frame, heat licking through every vein in my body as my cock hardens at the beauty in front of me. “Holley, baby… if you step in here with me, I’m not gonna pretend I don’t want you.” My tone deepens, rough with honesty. “But I’ll take this slow. Your pace. You call every shot.”