Tangled In His Sheets Novels & Stories

He was dying. Misha was dying and I couldn’t even keep my grip on a towel. I stumbled back into the bedroom, arms overflowing, heart threatening to crack my ribs open from the inside. He was still on the bed, barely upright, barely conscious. His face looked wrong. Pale, waxy. Lips cracked and blue-tinged. Eyes half-lidded and glassy. Blood soaked the sheets. Soaked him. I couldn’t even tell how much was left in him. So, I dumped the blankets and tore into them, wrapping him with frantic, clumsy hands. My voice shook, cracked, even as I tried to sound firm.

When his hands found her ribs, they were still almost reverent. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped. She guided his hand lower. “Don’t you dare.” He lifted her into his arms, mouth never leaving hers, and carried her to the wide, cold bed that hadn’t known touch in years. There was nothing polished about it. No choreography. Only sweat, teeth, gasps. Her legs around his waist. His voice low, breaking muttering her name like a confession between each kiss. Her hands in his hair. Their pain, their pasts, their betrayals tangled between sheets.

I held it for as long as I could, alternatively worrying about waking him up. Finally after what felt like 20 minutes, l finally found it unbearable. I slowly pulled away from him but his eyes instantly opened. He watched me pull the top sheet out from the mess of tangled bedding and wrapped it around myself. His eyes met mine and even though I couldn't read his hard expression, l felt shame and pain wash over me at the same time.

The wife whom he had married for this sole purpose, the only one that can touch his pain without being consumed by it. I paused at the entrance of the bedroom as I saw him crumpled on the floor. He had entwined himself with the sheets, groaning in pain. His body moved in unnatural angles as the tremors grew worse. His muscles were twitching helplessly, his skin glistened with sweat, his jaw clenched as if his sheer could silence the pain coursing through him. A strangled growl that once commanded the pack, broke through in small gasps of pain...

He took her by the shoulders and escorted her through the dimly lit room toward the bed. Not wanting either of them to be naked, he walked into his closet and slipped into a pair of loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. Beside his shirts, there was a rack of tunics for Nine. He grabbed a standard house tunic—grey and miserable—and felt the fabric in his hands. It was rougher than he would like, so he tossed it to the floor and grabbed one of his t-shirts. It was softer, made from cotton. He re-entered the bedroom area and bunched the t-shirt around the neck. Nine swayed on her feet, and he startled, jumping toward her. He gripped her by the biceps, and she shook her head in an attempt to keep hers

The ѕtubblе іѕ rоugh on hіѕ сhееkѕ, and thеrе’ѕ a ѕраttеrіng оf hair between hіѕ ресѕ. I lіft bасk thе sheet аnd ѕtаrе аt hіѕ ѕlееріng fоrm. Hе’ѕ semi-hard even in his ѕlеер, and I hоре he’s drеаmіng аbоut mе. Hіѕ аrm іѕ thrown up аnd аrоund my ѕhоuldеr ѕо I ѕnugglе in to his сhеѕt and іnhаlе tо take hіm аll іn.

He stirred, and his eyes opened. "Sweetheart", he said sleepily, smiling. His bare torso glistened in the faint morning light. I yelped again, grabbing the first thing I could find and yanking it over my front, up to my chin. It was part of the top sheet. "Where are my clothes?", I shrieked. I did a mental catalogue of my clothing and found I was only wearing underpants. Lucas's brow furrowed. "Uhh..." He looked at something in a corner of the room. I followed his eyes and recognized the crumpled fabric of the shirt I had on the day before. It looked unmistakably torn.

The only source of light in the room was the pale moonlight spilling from the slightly opened curtains. Right in the middle of the bed, Ronan had his legs tangled around the sheets. I moved. He was shirtless and sweat dripped from his face onto his neck and then over his chest, spilling down to the sheets. His brows were drawn tightly together, a deep crease etched between them as he gripped the bedsheets with force. “Ronan,” I called softly, walking to his side. He began to shake. “Ma….” “No….” “Don’t… Don’t…”

he shouted right in Jay’s face. Jay abruptly sits up, wailing the word 'no' from the top of his lungs. The white sheets were tangled up between his legs as his shaking hands were around his neck and he was breathing heavily, panting like he's been running a marathon where a fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He bents forward between his knees, hugging them tight against his chest, it was a nightmare, he thought.

He's asleep and she's gone. The bed is a mess. His pillows are askew, and his sheets are half-hanging. My eyes drift to the gauze on his side, it is slightly bloodstained but at least it's still in place. The man as an arm slung over his face while the other rests loosely on his stomach like nothing ever happened. I sit up slowly and reach for the blanket that slipped to the floor. I don't wrap it around me. I just hold it, it's more for comfort than warmth.