Tangled In His Sheets Novels & Stories

I hid my glee, not expecting it to be so easy. "Great. I already have a bowl and water up in my room. Come on." I walked towards him and took his hand,. pulling him after me. He followed silently, and when we got to the room, I climbed onto the bed, not bothering to pull the covers over me. Seb sat beside me and slowly squeezed out the cloth I'd dunked in the water. I wondered if he noticed that instead of using a small towel like he had yesterday, I'd put in a tiny cotton handkerchief.

He just buried his face in the sheets, nodding, muffled whimpers spilling from his lips as he fisted the blankets beneath him. I pulled out and slammed back in again, harder this time. He cried out, his voice breaking as he clutched the sheets like they were the only thing holding him together. Keeping one hand locked on his hip, I reached forward and tangled the other into his hair, yanking his head back. I needed to see him—needed to see my name written all over his face. He looked ruined. Perfectly ruined. Eyes glassy, barely able to stay open. Tears clung to his lashes and streaked down his cheeks. His lips were parted, wet, trembling.

His rule slams into me with the impact that his fist had only moments earlier. He does not like to be held, and I had tucked the covers snuggly around him. When I was ill as a kid, I drew comfort from being nestled beneath a mound of them. But he has to feel as though the widest arms on earth are holding him. Grabbing the covers, I begin jerking them free. “Calm down, calm down. I’ll get them off”. As their hold loosens, so he begins to still. When I have dragged the last of the dampened sheets to the floor, he scrambles off the bed. Breathing heavily, he glances around wildly. I can see blood seeping through the bandages.

His liege has been hardheaded so getting any information out of his is like searching for a needle in a stack of hay. — Fast forward, to the god of wine slumbering in bed. The sheets that he had initially wrapped around his body like a cocoon now rests on the edge of the bed. Pillows all messed up and scattered, some on the floor, one is luckily still intact under his head, and another is cuddled in his arms. Despite the chaos of his bedroom chambers, his dreams that usually turn up as haunting nightmares did not arrive.

Even my throat felt tender from the press of fabric. I tugged a black turtleneck over my head, the high collar scraping against sensitive skin as if mocking me for what I was trying to hide. My eyes flicked back to the bed—and froze. The sheets were a battlefield: used condoms scattered, clothing tangled in a mess I couldn’t separate—my blouse, Alexander’s shirt, his belt. Stains smeared the fabric, slick traces that looked obscene in daylight, blood mixing with cum, marks too obvious to mistake for anything else.

He shook his head and extended his hand to me, “nope, let’s go, he’s fine and we can hear him if he fusses, you need to move around and get out of that bed, I can’t change the sheets with you laying in it now can I.” My eyes went wide, “you’re going to do what?” I took his hand and threw the covers off me, like ripping the band aid off in one full tug. He chuckled, “change the sheets, you bled on them last night while you slept, it’s nothing, come on pumpkin, let’s take care of you now.”

He turns a little from the closet when I barge in, his dark hair rumpled. “Oh,” I stumble, my fingers tightening around the knob. “Sorry, I heard you were back, I wanted to say hi” I mummured shipishly. My eyes traveling around his room, there’s a black jacket draped over the chair by his bed, a crisp white shirt falls untucked from his black pants, he turns fully to face me, I must have caught him in the middle of undressing,

But his badluck doesn't leave him in that field too . He gently pushed the door . She couldn't hear it as it hard lightening outside and she was too frightened . He softly track to her bed In small footsteps. He was tensed as he saw her completely wrapped up in her bed . It must be very suffocating how she was laid down in such condition . A human being can stopped breathing . Concern lied on his face . He urgently tugged the bedsheet and quilt off her body . He sighed as he discoverd her petite body in the bumps of covers . She was breathing heavily . The sweet beads of sweats dripped down her head . She was drenched in her sweat . She was fighting in her dreams . She was mumbling somet

With that, he pulls away and stands at the edge of the bed, still looking pissed off but keeping his eyes glued on me. Clearing my throat, I get off the bed, pulling off the sheets before proceeding to what looks like a walk in closet and picking out a fresh set of black silk sheets. I put away the previous set and start laying out the bed, arranging the corners much longer than intended because am trying to function under his gaze while still begging my thoughts to stay together and not drift to what he just promised. After all four corners are tacked away neatly, I proceed to pick up the second bedsheet but i am suddenly picked up before being tossed to the bed again.

Or what was left of it. He was on his knees in the middle of the room, surrounded by the wreckage of what had probably been a very expensive desk. Papers were everywhere. A heavy crystal ashtray lay in pieces near his hand. He was shirtless, his skin slick with sweat, his breathing ragged and harsh. He was shaking, his broad shoulders hunched in on themselves. He didn’t look up as I entered. He was clutching the edge of a broken desk drawer, his knuckles white, head bowed as if in prayer or agony.