Page 21 of Wrong For Me

Leo

Iopen my eyes before my alarm goes off, my body well-conditioned to waking in the pre-dawn hours to work a shift at whatever shitty, early morning job I can find to work before class. But it’s not pre-dawn now—the sun is shining bright and warm through my bedroom window.

And it’s not only the sun making me warm. There’s also a body next to me in bed.

I still, memories from the night before crashing over me. Meeting Rose at the festival. Helping her find her signature drink. The absolute conviction that had washed over me when I saw her again at the club, the certainty that I needed to spend time with her, needed to get to know her. Needed to kiss her.

We’d ended up doing a lot more than kissing. I was suddenly extremely glad I hadn’t had the chance to drink much last night. There’s not a single moment of the time we spent in this bed that I would ever want to be forgotten in a drunken haze.

Unbelievable. She had been unbelievable. And we had been unbelievable together. I couldn’t ever remember sex feeling like that—not just good physically but touching something deep down inside me that I usually tried to pretend didn’t exist. This girl shook me to the core when she came apart in my arms, the sight of her losing control more beautiful than I could have imagined.

I rest on my elbow so I can look down at her. Her face is mostly hidden in the pillow, waves of blond hair spread out around her. I can remember exactly how that hair felt between my fingers, wrapped around my fist when I kissed her hard.

The images flash through my mind while I watch her sleep, each more enticing than the last. Rose pressed flush against me, her body sandwiched between mine and the door when I hadn’t been able to wait to get her to my bedroom before kissing her. The taste of all that golden skin that had teased me throughout the night. I could have spent hours tasting and caressing her skin. The curtain of her hair surrounding us both while she moved on top of me, leaning down to gasp against my mouth while I kissed her through the pleasure.

The sounds she made were what really did me in—little moans and whimpers when I touched her, that perfect gasp when I moved inside her. The way she had laughed afterwards, the sound pure joy in my bed, like she was surprised by how good it had been.

Fuck, good wasn’t the right word for last night. And I’m ready for more.

I kiss her bare shoulder while she sleeps, remembering the way she had held her breath when I slid the strap of her tank top down. How my heart had seemed to stop beating when I realized she wore no bra underneath.

This girl. In the span of a few hours she’s made me completely undone.

I don’t act like this over women. Don’t get all worked up like this. Shit, my thoughts are damn near poetic right now, and I do not do poetry. My life is pretty simple. I focus on school and work, in that order. And I pretty much only work to pay for school. Getting my doctorate is the only goal I have room for. It’s the only thing that really matters to me.

And that focus doesn’t leave much room for relationships. Sure, Bodhi managed to wedge his way in there, but he’s the exception. I certainly don’t make time for girlfriends. When I need a little release, I find a willing woman and take care of it.

I’m respectful to every woman I’m with, but I also make sure they know the score up front. I don’t invite them home. I don’t spend the night. I never wake up the next morning wanting more.

But I want more now. I want more of Rose Ransome, and I’m having a hard time envisioning myself ever being satisfied.

That should scare me. It should fucking terrify me. She’s leaving in a few days. Even if she is going back to LA, her life there is nothing like mine. This can’t go anywhere.

But I want it to. I really want it to, and that’s a completely foreign emotion for me.

These atypical thoughts scatter when her eyelids flutter open, revealing a peek at those ice-blue irises. For the briefest moment, she looks confused, before recognition sparks in her eyes and a slow smile spreads over her face.

“Morning,” she whispers in a sleep-raspy voice. She’s so damn cute like this, all sleepy and snuggled up, warm in my bed, and it makes my chest clench so tightly that I have to lean down and kiss her.

I feel like I’m careening towards something, like I’m strapped to an out-of-control rollercoaster and I have no idea how or where it’s going to stop. But I can’t seem to care very much. I can’t seem to worry about anything except for making Rose sigh just like this, against my mouth, over and over, for as long as she’ll let me.

“Sleep good?” I murmur when I finally pull away to let her breathe.

She stretches a little, the blanket dipping enough to show off the top of the swells of her breasts, and it’s a struggle to keep my eyes on her face.

“Slept great,” she murmurs. “Your bed is comfy.”

“That’s because you were hogging all the pillows.”

She narrows her eyes a little. “I seem to remember you encouraging me to useyouas a pillow.”

She’s right. Any time she rolled away from me last night, I pulled her right back into my arms, wanting her body spread out over me while she slept.

I shrug. “You make a good blanket. Must be all this hair.” I pick up a strand, letting the silkiness slide between my fingers, and her eyes widen a little bit.

“My hair must be insane right now,” she says, chewing worriedly on her bottom lip, like she actually thinks I might find her unattractive in the morning, rumpled and messy in my bed.

“I must like it insane,” I say, my voice sounding like gravel. “Because you look incredibly hot right now.”