Tangled In His Sheets Novels & Stories

The bitter feeling of having not been able to resist her, and see through her lies. When he emerged from the bathroom, still grappling with his own emotions, just like he had heard while in the bathroom, she had gone. The room was quieter now, but the tension hung in the air like smoke. He eyed the crumpled sheets that stared back at him like an accusing testament to what had happened last night, and a fresh wave of anger welled up inside him. Gritting his teeth, he flung the towel he was using to rub his hair, and closed the gap between him and the bed—and tore out the sheets from the bed, flinging the offending sheet to the ground.

His bed was large and unmade, sheets twisted as if he’d been fighting them in his sleep. He lay on his back, still wearing his hockey jersey, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other resting on his stomach. The white bandage my mom had wrapped around his knuckles stood out against his skin. A damp towel lay on the bed beside him. His chest rose and fell in slow, heavy breaths. I moved closer, heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it even unconscious.

“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.

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.

And his dick at repose was not something he should flop around in. He sat up and stretched as he cast about for something to wear. He recalled wheeling himself in here the previous night and, after a visit to the bathroom-where he cursed the tubes he needed to use-flinging the garments around. He'd splayed himself on the bed and managed one cuff before the orderly arrived and attached the other. Given his agitation and the alcohol still working through his system, he didn't dare sleep unfettered. A glimpse of fabric caught his attention. He leaned over and grabbed it with the tips of his fingers. Aha. A shirt.

she teased, a smile dancing on her rosy cheeks at the playful glare he shot in her direction. He poked out his tongue, eyes crinkling closed. “It’s ‘cause you’re hogging all the covers.” “Uh-huh,” she rolled her eyes, mockingly smoothing out the material enveloping her. “It has nothing to do with your inability to get into bed like a normal person.” “Hey! I got into bed just fine, thank you. It’s the fucking sheets I’m having trouble with.”