Page 39 of Malaise
I spin away and flick the old-school switch down in its round housing, plunging the room into darkness. My eyes take what feels like forever to adjust to the minimal moonlight creeping in around the heavy drapes. I lose my balance twice in the effort to get Tanya’s tight-as-fuck jeans off, first slamming my shoulder into the wall, and second barely breaking my fall before I add a broken tooth to my current repertoire.
The padding in my bra cups is still damp from the rain at the park, but there’s no way I’m taking that last semblance of dignity off. He’ll just have to make do if they end up making a wet patch on his bed.
Carver is silent all throughout my struggle to get bed-ready, not so much as a rustle of the sheets coming from his direction. Arsehole probably doesn’t want to open his mouth in case he slips the other foot in. Good. I make my way over to the bed and pat my hand around on the edge to locate the top of the sheet.
“I already pulled it back for you.” His voice is amplified by all my other senses being useless in the dark. It sends vibrations through to my very core.
“Thanks.” I slip a leg onto the mattress, heart in my throat while I wait to see if he’s moved from where I guess he is.
All good so far.
Arse on the bed, I scoot over enough that I won’t wind up on the floor, and slide my other leg between the sheets.
Still safe.
“Do you always take this long to settle in?” His question comes with a yawn.
“When I’m figuring out how to share with somebody, yeah, because strangely enough it’s not something I do every weekend.”
“Really? You don’t know what you’re missing out on then,” he quips.
I tense, halfway between sitting and lying.
“I’m pulling your tit, Meg. Now lie the fuck down so I can get comfortable too.”
I stretch out on my back, stiff as a board, and try to hush my damn breathing, which sounds like the freaking ocean is trapped in my head.
The bed dips and rolls as Carver moves around, and to my horror, his hand shunts under my pillow so that his arm is beneath my neck.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable. I don’t know about you, but sleeping on the edge of the mattress, terrified I’ll touch the person beside me, doesn’t sound like a good night’s sleep.”
Well… that’s that then.
“Meg?” His deep voice tickles my left ear, he’s so damn close. “Don’t freak out, but”—his leg crosses over mine. The ability to breathe escapes me—“this is way more comfy.”
“Are you finished yet?” I croak out, not sure how much more of this mind-fuckery I can take.
“Tell you in the morning.” He wriggles a little, settling in. “Good night, Meg.”
Yep—don’t think there’ll be much sleeping going on over here….