Tangled In His Sheets Novels & Stories

Ronan tossed in the massive bed, sheets tangled around his hips like chains. Sleep had finally dragged him under after hours of pacing and snarling at shadows, but it brought no peace. In the dream he was back in the mud of the battlefield, only this time there was no war around them. Just the two of them.

The morning seeped in through the curtains, warm but almost intrusive against Taiga’s half-lidded eyes. He shifted slightly, feeling the cool sheets tangled around his waist and the faint ache in his ass that was more memory than pain. His breath hitched before his mind even finished piecing together the events of last night.

His tie hung loose around his neck, and his shirt was half-untucked, a mess that matched the storm in his chest. Dragging himself toward his bedroom, Nicholas barely managed to make it to the bed before collapsing face-first into the mattress. The room spun around him, but he couldn’t summon the energy to care. All he wanted was for the pain to stop, even if only for a few hours of restless sleep.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

The weight of his gaze made her pull the sheet higher over her chest, as though it could protect her from the truth written in his eyes. “You didn’t sleep,” she whispered. “No.” His voice was calm, steady. But his jaw was tight, his hands restless on the sheet. Her heart skipped. “Because of me?” “Because of your lies.” His words were sharp, a blade hidden in silk. The sting of them cut her deeper than she expected. She sat up, the sheet clutched to her, her hair tumbling in waves around her face. “I never asked you to tie me up, Carson. I never asked for.”

I threw him onto the center of the giant king-sized bed. The silk sheets wrinkled under his body as he rolled onto his back. His blonde hair was messy, and his chest rose and fell as he stared up at me. The difference between us under the blue LED lights was huge. I stood over him, a wall of raw, scarred muscle with my wrapped knuckles still stained with dried blood. He was pale, smooth, and beautiful, looking up at me like he was completely ready for me.

They tangled together until she couldn’t tell them apart. “Why does it still hurt?” she whispered under her breath. She sighed, standing up and carefully helping him to his feet. His body was heavy and limp, but she managed to guide him upstairs, half dragging, half carrying. Inside his room, she laid him gently on the bed. The faint light from the hallway spilled across his face. He looked peaceful now, younger even. His shoes reeked faintly of leather and smoke, so she knelt and untied them, setting them aside. His shirt was rumpled and damp; she unbuttoned it halfway and slipped it off, leaving him in his undershirt.