Page 20 of The Attack Zone

“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”

I flick off the bedside lamp and join a very close-to-naked Stacey under the covers. The bed is huge, so I doubt we’ll be touching, but the urge to reach out for her hand, to brush my hand along her waist, to crawl on top of her and grind my hips into hers, has never been stronger. Instead, I move as close to the edge as I can so I don’t make her uncomfortable, and close my eyes.

I hear her wrestling next to me, definitely taking off her bra, and I try not to imagine it. Try not to imagine her perfect tits falling out of the cups. My hands massaging them. Her hard nipples slipping into my mouth.

It doesn’t work. I’m definitely imagining it.

Dammnit.

Adams.

Jefferson.

Burr.

Clinton.

Gerry.

I go on and on in my head until my dick feels slightly less like it could cut glass and I’m able to nod off to sleep.

There’s something warm pressing into my chest. I think it’s a hand. And maybe a head? Wait. There’s something on my leg too.

What the hell is happening?

I blink my eyes open slowly. It’s still dark out but I can still see the very naked Stacey very much cuddling me. Her head and hand are resting on my bare chest and her leg is wrapped all over mine. What am I supposed to do here? Shedefinitely didn’t mean to do this. So now what? Do I wake her up so she can move? No, that would be super awkward for both of us. I decide I’ll just stay where I am and try very hard to fall back asleep. Which of course doesn’t work, so I resign myself to just trying to not think about how perfect her body feels pressed into mine.

CHAPTER 11

STACEY

THE NEXT WEEKEND

Mitch is on top of me.

His arms are braced on either side of my head. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers as his hips rock into mine. I let out a soft moan and dig my nails into his back. His lips trail up the side of my neck until they reach the sensitive spot just below my ear. He nips my ear lightly with his teeth.

I let out another light moan just before a loud beep starts coming from my phone. My eyes flutter open to turn it off and I find myself alone in my apartment back in Denver.

Dammit.

This is the second Mitch-related dream I’ve had since I got back from Miami. Why does this keep happening to me?

I let out a groan as my backup alarm blares through the room. I hit it off and stumble to my feet.

We got back a few days ago and I’ve somehow managed to successfully avoid Mitch post-CuddleGate. I cannot believeI woke up in his arms. Initially I was super annoyed with him until I realized we were onhisside of the bed. Which means thatI’mthe one who cuddledhim.

And I liked it.

Fuck me, I liked it.

He was warm and cozy and sturdy and he didn’t make a comment when we both woke up and I retreated to my side of the bed. He didn’t even have a snarky smirk on his face. He just politely averted his eyes so I could get dressed and peace the fuck out without saying a word.

We were on the same flight back, but luckily, I was in coach, so I didn’t have to worry about being seated next to him. So, for the past three days, I’ve just been trying to focus on Caleb’s gala, which is tonight, while regularly zoning out thinking about these damn dreams I’m having about Mitch.

I make my way to my kitchen and turn on my far-too-expensive espresso machine. As the coffee drips into the little cup, I froth some milk to finish off my first flat white of the day. I have a job to do. I can’t let Mitch and whatever masochistic attraction I seem to have developed towards him get in the way of that.

I arrive at the ballroom where we’re holding Caleb’s gala several hours early. While I’m completely prepared for tonight, I like to be on-site just in case anything comes up. I’m sitting at the check-in table when I hear a familiar laugh bellow through the building. I look up from my laptop to see Mitch sauntering confidently towards me. Dammit, he looks good.