Page 71 of Baby Girl
A tiny white lie, but I’m done chatting for tonight. And because I apparently have no self-control, I send one more message.
Me:Same time tomorrow night?
EyesOnYou:Yes, that works for me. See you then x
I lock my phone and flop back flat on my bed, allowing myself exactly twenty seconds of whatever this waffly, buzzy, but exhausted feeling is to flutter around my body.
Then I shove upright, close my laptop, and put both it and the textbook on my desk next to the white box with the polka dot ribbon, plug it in to charge, and scoop up my phone before heading out to the living area.
As expected, Oakley is home, but she must be in her room and on one of her calls, which means I’m confronting Xavier solo. All I can see is the back of his curly, sandy brown hair from his spot on the couch. The TV has hockey playing on it with barely any volume.
Fine. I can do this.
But first, a detour.
With all the confidence I’m able to drag from the bottom of my soul, I all but stomp into the kitchen, grab a tub of cookies-and-cream ice cream from the freezer and a spoon, then head toward the couch.
Without a word or even a glance in his direction, I plonk my ass down on my usual cushion in the corner of the couch, snatch up the remote, change the channel, increase the volume, then pop the top on the ice cream before settling back into the couch.
Like the universe is rewarding me for my bravery or some shit, my favorite reality show is just starting, and it’s an episode I’ve never seen before, which, yay.
The dark shadow next to me doesn’t shift, at all. He merely continues to work on the laptop balanced on his legs, socked feet crossed on the coffee table, and with those stupidly adorable nerdy little glasses.
Just a lampshade.
Chapter 39
Xavier
Of course the first fucking time she wraps her arms around me is when she’s asleep.
Using my socked foot, I push her bedroom door open wider and carry her into the dark room, happy she hasn’t managed to trash it again.
It didn’t take her long to fall asleep on the couch, just over one episode of that utter piece-of-shit show she was watching. Why people allow themselves to be humiliated like that on an international platform, I’ll never fucking understand.
When her breathing turned deep and even, with her head lolling to the side on the couch, I turned everything off and scooped her up into my arms. The floral scent, the warmth and weight of her—all of it was messing with me.
I expected my dick to get hard. That’s basic biology, at this point. What I didn’t expect was the rest of my nervous system to go haywire.
Heart rate elevated.
Stomach churning.
Palms sweating.
Fucking ridiculous.
I had to resort to goddamn box breathing to get that shit under control. May have done a few extra sets just so I could hold her a little longer.
Her eyelashes form dark little crescent moons on her cheekbones, and her lips are parted the smallest amount. If I wasn’t so fucking horny, sweet and syrupy words likeadorableandperfectwould be running through my mind.
But since my balls are angry with me right now, all I can think about is shoving my cock through that tiny hole so that she wakes up gagging. The mental image has my cock getting harder and my balls drawing up.
Carefully, I shift her in my arms so that I can hold most of her weight with one arm and keep her pinned to my chest as I pull back the blankets and sheets, then slowly lower her onto her bed. With her hair fanned out around her, I stand there staring, taking in my fill.
My hunger for this girl is beyond anything I have ever felt before. She’s my version of sunshine. Everything is fuckingbetter when she is in the same goddamn room as me. It’s like that bullshit about food tasting better and colors being brighter, just because I have her to experience them with.
From that very first bite of a kiss, she has been it for me. She crawled under my skin and made herself at home in a space that barely has room for me.
