Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,37
side. He says nothing while kicking off his shoes and climbing next to me. With his back flat over the covers, I cuddle into the crook of his shoulder and chest. It’s the same cozy position we practiced in the ER waiting room, only better because now we’re lying down. For a moment, I wonder what plans he had for today and if he had to cancel anything to look after me.
“Don’t worry. I won’t try anything,” he teases in a whisper.
“Even if you did, it wouldn’t make a difference.” I yawn. This hospital bed must have been made for a giant, because even though it’s a tight fit, it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, I feel a million times more comfortable snuggled next to him than I did while lying in it alone.
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m difficult to excite in that way.”
“You mean . . .” He drifts off.
“I’ll give you a hint: I’m not often able to reach the top of the mountain.” I yawn again. “We’ll see how long it takes you to figure it out.”
A minute passes. “Does it start with an ‘O’?” he asks.
I nod.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine.”
“So you’ve never had an orgasm?” he says after several seconds of silence.
“No, I have. Just not with most people I’ve been with. I fake them usually. I can give myself one just fine.”
He nuzzles the top of my head and takes a long whiff of my hair. The knotted muscles in my shoulders relax. I can’t remember the last time I was this comfortable, this content against a male body.
“You are a fascinating being, Emmie.”
I let out a tired moan. With each blink, my eyelids stay closed longer and longer. Feeling Tate’s solid body against mine is an instant relaxer. I’m not far from sleep. “Thank you for taking care of me today. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to. Thank you for letting me.”
My ear presses against the side of his chest, the slow rhythm of his heartbeat lulling me to sleep.
* * *
• • •
THERE’S ONLY PITCH black when I open my eyes. It’s a handful of moments before my vision adjusts and I spot the crack of yellow light between the door and the wall. The nurse must have shut it while we slept. She also must not have minded the way we disregarded the visiting hour policy, because Tate is still cuddled up next to me. I zero in on his faint wheeze above my head. I tilt up for a look. When I move my shoulder slightly, he stirs. His eyes open, and even in the darkness, their soothing color is visible.
“Hey there,” he whispers in a raspy voice. My ears tingle, giddy at the sound. I wonder if this is what he sounds like first thing in the morning.
“Hi,” I whisper back. “Are you comfortable? Do you need me to move?”
He closes his eyes again and gives me a sleepy smile. He shakes his head. “Nope. This is perfect.”
A tiny spot in the center of my chest bursts. I’ve never seen a grin that was as adorable as it was sexy. I try to scoot closer to the railing to give him more space, but his arm keeps me firmly against him.
“Cognitive wellness check,” he whispers. “Tell me your name, the day, and where you’re at.”
A sleepy chuckle falls from me before I answer the questions perfectly, just I like I did when the nurse checked on me.
His massive hand gives my upper arm a single soft squeeze, then his thumb rubs up and down my skin. He doesn’t want to let me go.
“You passed with flying colors.”
Goose bumps spring up all over my body. It occurs to me I’ve never, ever felt this comfortable and safeguarded with any man I’ve been with. No boyfriend has ever cuddled me the way he does. Whenever a guy has tried to spoon me in bed, I pull away. I feel smothered and contorted, and I can’t escape their grip fast enough. But one night in this bed with Tate is changing me. I think I’m a born-again cuddler.
With my body sunken into his, I burrow my nose in his chest. “You sure you’re comfortable?” I peek up from under my eyelids to steal another glance.
Even though his face shows all signs of being in a restful sleep, he answers. “Very.”
The dull pain in my right side sharpens. I’ve been curled in the fetal position too long, and my sore body’s not happy about