Glass Houses by Helena Maeve

Author:Helena Maeve [Maeve, Helena]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Erotic Romance Fiction
Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
Published: 2015-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Sometime in the night, I stretched out my hand over the sheets and became aware that Elliot was no longer beside me. The bed was still warm, though, and I could hear Elliot’s voice in the other room. A sliver of light shone under the door that separated bedroom and parlor, occasionally interspersed with moving shadows. I imagined Elliot pacing on the other side and figured he might be on the phone. My nanny instincts willed me out of bed to check that he was all right, but I bit back the urge. Elliot was a grown-up and he could burn the midnight oil if he wanted to. It was none of my business.

I rolled over, determined to wait instead of chasing after him like some nagging girlfriend, and let my eyes droop shut.

The next time I blinked awake, Elliot had his arm draped heavily around my waist, his fingers warm against my belly button. His warm breaths gusted against my nape in a gentle caress. I could feel his semi-hard, steel-encased dick against my backside, too, which served to dispel any lingering somnolence.

It was a nice way to wake up, I thought, and wriggled none too subtly into Elliot’s lap to show my appreciation. I wasn’t averse to some morning play if we could be quick about it.

To my disappointment, Elliot took my squirming for a sign to roll onto his back and release his hold. The chill of the room crept in, goosebumps blooming over my naked skin. I shivered as I turned and stopped in my tracks.

Elliot wasn’t playing hard to get. He was still asleep, his features relaxed and his lips lightly parted. He was breathing heavily, too, and despite the tent in his boxers, I realized he was very much dreaming. A flood of tenderness coursed through me unbidden. I found myself wondering what had woken him during the night and if he’d been up for a long time.

It wasn’t like I could bring up the subject over breakfast. I reminded myself that we didn’t have that kind of relationship—and besides, I was supposed to be out of here by six-thirty.

The TV clock read 06.02. I had to get a move on and quickly.

I found my clothes on the vanity, though I was pretty sure we hadn’t taken pains to fold them last night. I tried to imagine Elliot gathering them up after he had finished his call and some uncomfortable, foreign pressure swelled in my chest. I’d never been comfortable with people touching my things, but the thought of a man caring enough to make my life easier was strangely pleasant.

I tried not to dwell too much on Elliot’s consideration as I padded into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It was what it was—an adorable quirk of character, nothing more. I was sure he wasn’t doing it for me so much as to satisfy his OCD.

There was nothing to be done about my tangled hair, so I pinned it up as best I could and hoped I could find the time to grab another shower once I got home.

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