Shameless

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Shameless Page 11

by Lex Martin


  She’s still asleep.

  I crouch down in front of her. “Kat. Wake up, babe. You’re dreaming.”

  Her face contorts, and she cries out again. I can’t stand seeing her this way, so I grab her arms and try to shake her awake gently.

  Her eyes fly open, and she gasps.

  I don’t have time to apologize for waking her because she launches herself into my arms, and I land on my ass, but the trembling girl I’m holding doesn’t seem to care. Her heart is racing, and she's ice cold.

  “Hey,” I whisper. “It’s okay.” I stroke her back, and she takes a shuddering breath. Damn. That must’ve been one hell of a dream.

  Is this why she always looks exhausted? “Babe, how long has this been going on? Do you have a lot of nightmares?”

  She nods against me.

  “Since the accident,” she whimpers.

  Damn.

  Does she always scream in her sleep, and I’ve just never heard her?

  I hold her until her breaths begin to even out. “You okay?”

  She laughs, but it sounds hollow. “Trying to be.”

  “C’mon. Let’s tuck you in bed.” I get up slowly, keeping my arm around her shoulders as we head to her room. I don’t bother turning on the light. Her window blinds are cracked open, and there’s enough moonlight to see her twin bed. Immediately, I see my breath.

  “It’s fucking freezing. You can’t sleep here.”

  “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  “But your hair is wet. You’re going to get sick.” We were already running around in the ice-cold rain tonight.

  All of a sudden, I’m pissed. This girl busts her ass around here, and this is where she sleeps?

  “Fuck this.” I grab her hand and drag her back to the office. “Sit.” Pointing at the couch, I don’t wait for her response as I jack up the thermostat as high as it’ll go and then duck into the bathroom for a hair dyer.

  When I stalk back, she motions toward me. “Why are you so pissed off right now?”

  “This. You freezing.” Growling, I plug the hair dryer into the wall. “I’m going to fix the fucking temperature in your room, but for right now, let’s dry your hair. Turn around.” Her eyebrows lift, and we stare at each other. “Kat. I’m not joking. Turn around.”

  She huffs out a breath. “¿Seriament? I can do it myself you know. I’m not five.”

  “Sure you can. But you didn’t. C’mon.” I flip on the dryer and put my hand up to my ear, shrugging like I can’t hear her protests. She rolls her eyes but finally turns so that her back is to me.

  Reaching for her thick, damp locks, I thread my fingers through her dark hair as I wave the dryer. The scent of lavender and mandarin reach my nose. I know this because I read all the damn labels in the bathroom earlier tonight when I was trying not to get her naked.

  I’ve never done this for a woman before. It’s surprisingly intimate. How close we are. How much I have to touch her.

  The strands are silky soft and flutter around her shoulders as I weave my fingers in and out of her hair. Rhythmically, I repeat the motion. After a few minutes, she drops her head to the side.

  I study her graceful neck and the long line of her shoulder, and I have the sudden urge to kiss her there. Is she ticklish. Would she giggle? Or would she moan and beg for more?

  When the blood in my body starts heading south, I realize I have to stop this shit before it gets out of hand.

  Ten minutes later, after I’ve recounted Red Sox stats instead of studying the soft curves of the woman in front of me, I click off the dryer, and she turns around. Her eyes are sleepy. “Thank you,” she whispers as she gets up.

  “Nuh-uh. You’re not going anywhere.” Reaching into the closet, I grab a few more blankets and another pillow. “Lie down.” I motion toward the couch.

  She looks at me, bewildered. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

  “The floor.”

  Her mouth drops open. “Brady, no. This is silly. I sleep in that room every night. I’ll be fine.”

  “I insist.”

  She sighs. “Let me sleep on the floor. You take the couch.”

  “Kat, I realize we haven’t known each other that long, but what part of me do you think is asshole enough to let a woman sleep on the floor?”

  She stares up at me while she nibbles her bottom lip. “How about we share it? It’s a pretty big couch. I could sleep on one end or in the lounger. Whichever you wanted.”

  I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Fine.”

  She sits slowly and pulls up the blanket.

  Settling back into the lounger does nothing to ease the nervous energy that pounded through me when I heard her scream. Jesus Christ. That scared the hell out of me. But when I think about how she leapt into my arms, I can’t deny how good she felt.

  She keeps shifting, so I know she’s still awake. And I can’t fucking sleep.

  “Want to see what’s on TV?” I ask her in the darkness.

  “Yeah, that’d be great.”

  The Steve Carell marathon is still going strong, so we settle in with Anchorman. It’s barely audible, but neither of us seems to care.

  I glance at her, and she’s curled up, looking like she’s afraid whatever happened in her dream is going to bust through the front door.

  This is probably the worst idea in the history of bad ideas, but I can’t stop myself. I have a crazy need to make sure she’s okay. And right now, I know she’s not.

  “Hey.”

  She turns to look at me, her eyes tinged with fear.

  I hold out my arm. “Come here.”

  There’s no hesitation. She just scoots closer and curls into me like she belongs pasted along my side. Her body’s still trembling, from the cold or her dream, I’m not sure.

  “Want to talk about it?” I ask softly.

  She shakes her head no, and I drop it. For now.

  I reach over and spread the blanket over both of us. I’m sure I’ll regret this in the morning, but for now, at least I feel like I’m doing what I can to make her feel better.

  Ignoring how good she feels against me, I close my eyes and try to sleep. Kat must be relaxing finally because she sighs and melts deeper against me. Her arm wraps around my waist, and her head slides to my chest. I glance down, and I realize how small she is. My arm tightens around her.

  “Everything will be okay,” I whisper. “I got you.”

  22

  Katherine

  I’m warm. So deliciously warm.

  Usually, I wake up freezing, but right now, I’m in a cocoon of warmth that reminds me of a long summer afternoon. I could sleep like this into the new year.

  Except for the pounding in my head. Whoa.

  Then I remember the tequila.

  Geesh. How many shots did I have? My mouth feels like I drank a pint of Pine Sol.

  I squint through pasty eyes, hating the harsh light that filters through the blinds. Funny, I never realized how bright my bedroom gets in the morning.

  But then something squeezes me, and I look down to see an arm draped over my hip.

  One very tattooed and muscular arm.

  The reason for the warmth squeezes me again, and I try not to squeak.

  Then it comes rushing back to me. My nightmare. Curling up to Brady afterward. How he held me until I calmed down.

  He’s such a sweetheart.

  Wait.

  We’re spooning.

  My heart thrashes against my ribs. One of his arms is nestled under my head while the other anchors me firmly to his chest. A muscular thigh rests between my legs, and… and… his long, thick erection presses against my bottom.

  I hold my breath. Do not arch your back. Do not arch your back.

  I really want to arch my back.

  My ex was not a snuggler. I never thought much about it since he was the first guy I had regular sleepovers with, so I guess I didn’t realize what I was missing because this feels heavenly.

  Brady sighs an
d then, dear Lord, presses his length against my ass.

  He’s thick and hard and feels so good.

  Instinctively, I push back, and a deep, raspy groan sounds in my ear, making my neck and everything south of it tingle. Then the hand that’s wrapped around my waist slides up over my breast and squeezes.

  Gah!

  My eyes flutter closed, and I try to breathe.

  A deep throb starts at my core, and it’s so very tempting to grind into his thigh to relieve the pressure.

  I don’t know what this means, what we’re doing, but I’m filled with so much need, rational thought has escaped my brain.

  He nuzzles against my neck while that hand rubs slowly across my nipple, back and forth, and warmth floods my panties. My skin is on fire, and I’m two seconds from turning around and launching myself at him when he mutters something I can’t quite make out.

  I debate whether or not to say anything when he mumbles it again.

  “Scale down the art.”

  Wait. What?

  Then he says something about an artichoke.

  Um.

  Yeah, he’s asleep.

  Curse words I never say bounce around in my head. For the first time since he arrived, I admit how much I want him. I’ve never lusted over any guy, but there’s something about Brady that has me wanting to do all of the dirty things to him that I’ve only read about in books.

  Disappointment washes over me at the realization that this comatose man will have no recollection of feeling me up once he wakes.

  That hand squeezes my aching breast again, and I let out a gasp. Is it wrong that I’m enjoying this?

  A lot.

  Dang. If Brady is this good at foreplay when he’s sleeping, I can’t even imagine how good he is when he’s awake.

  I start to wonder how far I’ll let this go. I usually pride myself on being an ethical person. I don’t cheat. I don’t steal. I don’t lie.

  And I don’t usually fool around with guys I only met a week ago. Not even a week. Six days ago.

  That’s not right, is it?

  Closing my eyes, I count back to when he arrived. Internally, I shake my head. Here I am thinking I would totally drop my panties for a guy I haven’t even known a full week.

  My mother’s voice rings loud and clear. Sinvergüenza. She’d say I was shameless, all tangled up, half naked with a man I barely know.

  But that’s not totally true.

  The way he held me yesterday. The sweet words he whispered to me, trying to calm me down after my nightmare. How he ran around in the frigid downpour to help me. My ex never would’ve done any of that even after all that time we were together.

  Mel always said she had an immediate connection to Cal, like they’d known each other for years. That’s why they eloped after only knowing each other two weeks.

  Not that I plan to elope with Brady.

  He sighs, and that big chest rubs against my back. Actually, everything rubs against my back.

  More. More, I think, embarrassed to be this turned on by a guy who isn’t even conscious.

  If I press back, can I chalk it up to my hangover?

  The erection slowly grinding between my ass cheeks is obviously short-circuiting my brain.

  This is such a colossally bad idea.

  “You feel so good, babe,” he mumbles as his hand slides under the thin fabric of my shirt and back up to my breast.

  Oh, God, is he awake? Please, please let this happen.

  And that’s when I realized what he said. Babe. He called me that last night after the nightmare too.

  My stupid heart goes all aflutter.

  His big, calloused hand slides over my sensitive skin, dragging over my tortured nipple, and I moan. My heart is racing, my panties are having a meltdown, and I’m panting.

  When I don’t think I can stand it any more, I take a deep breath, preparing to turn around and slide on top of him when he… he… snores.

  Really?

  Goddamn it.

  23

  Brady

  I wake with an erection so hard, it’s fucking painful. Thankfully, I’m alone, so Kat isn’t here to witness the wood. And if I’m being honest, it’s a distraction from the rest of my life. From yesterday. From the conversation I need to have with my parents about Izzy’s custody. From the woman I’m lusting over but can’t have.

  My head throbs, from stress or last night’s alcohol perhaps. I’m wound. Tight. Tension pulls at my shoulders and neck, and as I twist on the couch, every muscle groans.

  Jerking off last night to thoughts of Kat was probably stupid, but I haven’t been with anyone in months, and the last thing I need to do is let myself be tempted.

  I laugh humorously. She doesn’t even know how tempting she is.

  I’m halfway to convincing myself that I need to cut Kat from my mental porn reel when I catch a whiff of her shampoo. I pull my t-shirt to my nose, and sure enough, it’s her sexy-as-fuck scent, which makes the throbbing worse. Everywhere.

  Thoughts of last night flicker in my head. The way she looked so vulnerable when she told me she needed to check on the animals. Like I was going to let her go out alone in a torrential rainstorm.

  A powerful urge to protect her fills me when I think about it.

  But fuck, seeing her tremble on the couch after her nightmare? I don’t know if anything will ever wipe that memory out of my head. Holding her felt right somehow. I’m sure that’s what planted the dirty dream in my head.

  And Jesus, what a dream.

  We were tangled here on the couch when she slid on top of me, tore off her little t-shirt and thrust her tits in my face. I took one perky, pink nipple between my lips and sucked until she ground herself against me.

  My dick throbs harder, and I realize I’d better deal with this somewhere a little more private. I glance over at the closed door and then to the wall-mounted clock. It’s still early. She’s probably out feeding the animals. I vow to get my ass out there to help her as soon as I’m done dealing with my dick.

  I grab a change of clothes and head to the bathroom for a quick shower and a slow-motion replay of that dream. When I’m done and can walk upright again, I get dressed and head for the fresh pot of coffee.

  Is it wrong to love a girl for making the coffee every morning? I pour in a little cream and take a sip. Perfection. Strong but not burn-your-esophagus strength.

  My eyes land on a familiar Dunkin’ Donuts travel mug on the dish rack, and part of me wants to fill my brother’s coffee cup. He drank it with extra cream, extra sugar.

  A deep sadness wells over in my chest. “I miss you, brother.” I hold up my mug, wishing like hell he were here to give me shit about something. Anything.

  The back door slams shut, and I turn to find Kat holding the baby, who’s wrapped in a blanket.

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “When did you go get Izzy from the MacIntyres’?”

  Her eyes dart down with a shy smile. “I didn’t.” She laughs and tilts her arms. A little masked face leers at me.

  It’s the fucking raccoon.

  I jerk back, and she laughs harder. “Relax. He’s a baby and he doesn’t have rabies or anything.” So she says. “I found him asleep in the shed. The little rascal found a way in there last night, which is good because we got record rain, which is great for the aquifers but bad for the fields.”

  “The aquifers?”

  She pushes her glasses up her nose. “Texas gets its water from nine major and twenty-one minor aquifers. Around here, the most important ones are Edwards and Trinity.” She nibbles on her plump lip. “That’s why fracking is such a bad idea. If we contaminate our water supply, we’re screwed. I mean, obviously. But that means even more for farmers than the average person.”

  “Fracking? Is that why you were wearing that Frack Off t-shirt when I first met you?”

  Kat smiles while snuggling that giant rodent to her chest. He wraps his creepy arms around her neck and makes this weird little snick, snick, snick
noise. “Not everyone loves that t-shirt as much as I do.” She strokes the mongrel. “Fracking stands for hydraulic fracturing,” she says slowly, like she’s testing whether or not I want to hear what she has to say.

  I nod, prompting her to continue. I know about the issue. It’s not like I live under a rock, but I’m surprised to see her so interested in the topic.

  She continues. “It’s a process that uses millions of gallons of water—aquifer water, I should add—to blast out oil and gas from shale deposits.” Her frown deepens. “You can smell the fumes for miles, and those tanker trucks drip chemicals all along their routes.”

  The sun filters through the kitchen blinds and highlights the soft tendril of hair that’s escaped her messy bun. Honestly? She’s a vision. Even in sweats. I’ve never met a girl who looks so goddamn hot without makeup. The fact that she’s all riled up is even hotter.

  Kat stares up at me, her eyes bright. “We have twelve thousand gas wells here, and that number is only going up. Never mind that many experts suspect that’s why we’re having earthquakes for the first time ever. Mining the five-thousand-mile shale formation that runs along the eastern side of the state sounds feasible until you realize how much of that sits over our water supply.”

  The one hand that’s not holding the raccoon starts waving wildly, and I hold back a grin. “Fracking is great for gas prices and oil companies and tax revenues, but terrible for Texans, who eventually will be ingesting God knows what in our water. Some ranchers are trying to fight it, but unless politicians have a major change of heart soon—good luck with that—it’s a done deal.”

  She’s so serious—her brow is furrowed, her jaw tight. I’m smiling at her like a dumbass, strangely more attracted to her now that she’s unleashed that little rant.

  “Sorry,” she laughs, flushing. “I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?”

  “A little, but it’s cute.” I like this spitfire version of Katherine. I chuckle at her embarrassed grin. “How do you know so much about this? Did you study environmental issues in college?”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “Not exactly.”

 

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