Tangled In His Sheets Novels & Stories

"Wish I made a video, yeah—of you fighting so hard in your subconscious to not let your shirt be ripped off. The doctor said you were probably phobic to being undressed. What's that?" Greg laughed. This time, I pulled his ear, and he yelped. "See, those nails pierced your right side, so just there got ripped." He said. I turned to my right, felt the bandage wrapped around my ribs, every breath sent this dull ache through my side,which made me groan. "That wretch!" I hissed,not even halfway through what I wanted to say, when he walked in, defiantly like he owned the air around it.

The door was closed, but I could hear him inside muttering, and thrashing, caught in whatever nightmare had him trapped. I knocked softly. “Jaxon? It’s me. Can I come in?” No response except more muttering. Something that sounded like “no” and “can’t” and a name I didn’t recognize. I pushed the door open. Jaxon was tangled in his bed sheets, sweating despite the cool temperature, his face twisted in distress. His hands clenched and unclenched like he was fighting something invisible. “Jaxon,” I said more firmly, approaching the bed. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

I yelled, snatching my emergency medical bag from the vanity and throwing open the mahogany doors. I didn't find him in the bathroom. He was tangled in the black sheets of his platform bed, his massive frame convulsing in a violent fit of shivering. The insulated silver ice pitcher lay on its side on the rug, a puddle of water soaking into the plush fibers. "Get out, Carrie," he gritted through chattering teeth. He didn't even open his eyes. He just clamped a hand over his face, turning his head away from the light spilling in from my room.

The sheets were a tangled mess around them, a silent testament to the chaos they had created. He stirred beside her, his body shifting against hers. He didn't wake peacefully. He came to awareness with a sudden stillness that was more alarming than any movement. For a long moment, he just lay there, his breathing shallow, then he slowly sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. He didn't look at her. He looked at the door, as if calculating an escape route. The muscles in his back were a tight, rigid line.

He pulled my back against his broad, solid chest, wrapping one heavy arm firmly around my waist, tucking me tight against his body. The scent of sandalwood, sex, and his skin enveloped me completely. I was exhausted, my limbs heavy as lead, the suffocating guilt waiting for me on the other side of sunrise. But right now, held tightly in the dark sanctuary beneath the estate, my eyes fluttered shut, and I drifted off to sleep wrapped in Adrian's heat.

My fingers tangled in his hair, thighs trembling, as his tongue drove me to the edge again and again until I shattered around his name. And when I fell back, gasping, he kissed the inside of my knee like a promise. Like he would never run again. --- That night, he held me in bed like I was all he had left. And maybe I was. But outside his penthouse walls, the press circled. Lawyers gathered. The past clawed at the door. And I knew this wasn’t the end of his secrets. It was only the beginning.

Maybe not caring at all. That’s the worst part. He never cares. Sleep doesn’t stick. I drift off once, briefly, but wake up just as fast, tension snapping me back to reality. After that, there’s nothing but pacing. Back and forth. Over and over. I stop outside his door. Stare inside. His bed is a mess. Sheets twisted. Indented like they remember him. His clothes from earlier are still on the floor. Everything about it pulls at me in opposite directions rage and something far more dangerous.

“He is awake, and he is asking for your presence. Sing to him and put him to rest. He will need the entire night to heal.” I nod. Then I bust through the doors. The entire room reeks of the scents of herbs and medicine. And my eyes instantly land on the dark silhouette on the bed. My mouth falls open. He is covered in bandages. Everywhere, from the length of his throat to the broad lines of his chest and shoulders. It wraps down to his forearms and around each fingertip. I can’t see his lower body underneath the sheets, but I have no doubt that it looks exactly the same as his upper body. It’s almost like he’s wearing a suit made out of gauze.

My heart beat suspended in panic as I rushed to help him out. “Oh, my goodness, what happened here?!” he winced from pain as I pulled on a side of the sheets. “Oh my, sorry! Sorry…does it hurt? Does it?” he nodded gently to my question. His expression pitiful as slowly, I untangled with from the sheets that had wrapped him up like a sausage roll!

A wave of fury and embarrassment washed over him as he stared at the slightly wrinkled sheets, a little lining where he'd sat earlier. “Just great.”