Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends #2) - Sara Ney Page 0,45

not my fault we’re not having sex right now, but this is a girl I haven’t put the moves on. I’m not about to ruin it by asking if I can slide inside.

One more thrust.

Two.

Hollis moans louder, head collapsing on my chest, and I lie there, stunned.

“Did you…just come?”

She seems to be hesitating. “Yes?”

“From dry humping?”

“Yes.” She sighs again, her body a limp mass on top of my chest. “Did you?”

“Uh, you would know if I came because there would be jizz all over my boxers.” To my own ears, I sound jealous, because I am. I wanted to come, too! It’s not fair that she’s the only one to have an orgasm! It’s not like I can beg her for a blowie to finish me off.

Hollis grunts. Lays her head on my chest and exhales another sigh. I give her a gentle nudge.

“Hey.”

She doesn’t move. Only gives me a suspiciously sleepy-sounding, “Hmm?”

“Are you falling asleep?” I poke her rib cage.

No response.

“You are not seriously falling asleep.” I say it to no one, because just then, a soft snore escapes her throat, indicating that she has, indeed, fallen asleep. We didn’t even have sex and she’s pulling a guy move on me by passing out? This gets worse and worse.

What the H. “Unfuckingbelieveable.”

I lie here a few minutes, debating my next move: lie here and let her sleep on top of me, or roll her over and onto the floor. Or…I can try to scoop her up and put her back on the bed, where she’ll have a better night’s sleep than she will on the floor.

I lie here.

Longer still, enjoying her breathing and the steady rhythm of her heart beating against my chest.

Then finally, I roll to my side, taking her along with me, gently resting her beside me on the carpet, reaching for the blankets and comforter, pulling those up and over us.

She snuggles into my body, ass crushed against my crotch, little-spooning me in her sleep.

I rest my hand on her hip, atop the blanket. Give her hair a whiff and lay my cheek on my bicep, because I’ve slid the pillow under Hollis’s sleeping head.

Every so often, a snore escapes her lips. Not the chainsaw ‘I can’t sleep’ kind of snore, but the soft, steady, cute kind. A cute snore—what does she do that isn’t adorable?

I get comfortable, although it’s hard—pun intended. I didn’t come the way she did from dry fucking, so my dick is semi-stiff, poking into her ass cheeks, straining for some kind of relief. But I can’t rise to use the bathroom, and I can’t very well finish myself off here while she’s passed out. ‘Cause. That. Is. Creepy. As. Fuck.

I content myself with peacefully cradling her while she rests, knowing she may never let me get this close to her again. I wonder what possessed her in the first place, to get down out of the bed practically naked and straddle me.

Boredom? Curiosity?

Did the dark give her courage she doesn’t have when she has to face me in the light of day?

I cannot fall asleep, and the hours tick by. Slowly watch the sun rising outside the bedroom window, the sounds of the household waking up coming from downstairs. I imagine my dad shuffling around the kitchen in his bathrobe and house shoes as he’s always done, brewing a fresh pot of coffee while he does a crossword puzzle. Enjoying the alone time before Mom wakes up and starts making demands. Roger’s honey-do list.

Sometime around six o’clock, Hollis stirs. During the night, she shifted to face me, and I watch as her eyelids begin to gradually part. Blinking herself awake like a scene in a movie—preferably a romantic movie, where the couple makes out and kisses good morning, maybe has quick morning sex.

She’s still wordlessly blinking up at me.

That can’t be good.

“Morning.” I smile at her.

“Did I sleep down here last night?”

Obviously. “Uh…yes.” Does she have amnesia?

“Oh.” Her eyes shift to the pillow. “Did you put this under my head?”

“Yes.”

She pauses. “Thank you.”

“Are you cold?”

Her eyes widen—she’s just realized she has no clothes on, other than her panties, and I swear she must be blushing. “No. You must have kept me warm.”

I grin. “I’m a hot box. That’s what my mom always called me growing up—I don’t think I ever wore pajamas to bed. Naked as a jaybird.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“Uh—your side of the bed, I imagine.” I stare at her as best I can in the dim, early morning light.