Tangled In His Sheets Romane & Geschichten

“And you’re making me nervous. If anyone finds out…” “They won’t.” His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips before lifting her against the wall. “You said it yourself… they trust you completely.” A shiver of power rippled through her. His mouth claimed hers again, rougher this time, teeth grazing her lower lip until she moaned. Clothes came off with practiced ease, a trail leading them to her bedroom where the sheets tangled with their bodies, heat, and need. Every touch was desperate, fueled by something beyond lust, something twisted. His mouth traced fire down her throat, her chest, lower still, until he found one breast and took her nipple in between his tongue. She arched beneat

I saw Amanda's face drain of color as she clutched her chest and collapsed onto the couch. Jamie's face went pale as he rushed to shut off the equipment. The voices from the guests were crystal clear. "Oh my god! What is this? Isn't Connor engaged to someone else?" I felt the blood drain from my face. I never thought Connor would go this far. He didn't even care about exposing himself just to ruin me. "What on earth are you trying to do?" He stood up, slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and started walking toward me.

Which would've been flattering if I hadn't just woken up to him mentally spiraling into territory that sounded like the back half of a bad obsession. "Good morning, beautiful," he said, grinning way too wide. There was something wrong. "Morning," I mumbled, sitting up. The sheet shifted and I realized it wasn't tucked into anything—it was hung. Draped up, sloppily pinned like a college art student's idea of privacy. "Why is the sheet hung up?" Victor scratched the back of his head. "Well... we dirtied it, so I'll just take it home to sanitize it."

That voice, that cry for help, it was coming from his room. My feet moved before I could even think. Barefoot. Fast. My beast was racing wildly... What the hell was happening again. I pushed the door open... and nearly froze. My heart stilled. There he was, on the bed, tangled in the sheets. Body tense... too tense for sleep. His chest rose and fell in sharp, ragged gasps. He wasn't awake. But he wasn't resting, either. His hands were clenched, knuckles white. Jaw locked. Muscles twitching under his skin like something was chasing him even here.

I went through his closet searching for something I could use to bandage his wounds but I didn’t find anything, only clothes. I grabbed the biggest shirt I could find and tore it carefully to shreds, tossing the pieces aside before returning to the bedside with the rest of the fabric, hoping it would serve a better purpose than I had originally planned. He groaned loudly and shifted in his sleep, his fingers curling tightly around the bedsheets.

Why was he so confusing? Huffing with desperation, she stared at the side of the bed that appeared devoid of life. The sheets normally crumpled when he was in the bed were perfectly smooth as if untouched. The drenched towel that he wrapped around her shivering body lay carelessly on the couch, serving as a reminder of the night that had gone before. But the look of anger and hurt on his face when she pushed him away was still emblazoned in her mind.

And he was still here. Because on the other side of the bed, I saw the outline of him under the sheets. My breath caught in my throat. Even in sleep, he was impossible to ignore. The sheet barely covered his torso, leaving golden skin and carved muscles exposed to the morning light filtering through the curtains. His hair was messy, his jaw shadowed with stubble, his lips slightly parted like he didn’t have a care in the world. I did. I had several.

She collapsed onto her side, facing him, her back to her husband, knees drawing up slightly as the evidence of their fucking became a cold, sticky patch on the sheets between them. He looked at her, the tear-streaked face, the bruised mouth, the bare, milk-damp breast, then reached out and pulled the rumpled duvet up over her shoulders, tucking it around her like a child. The gesture was so at odds with everything that it made her breath catch in a new kind of confusion. “Sleep,” he repeated, and she closed her eyes. “Good girl.”