Page 29 of Forged

“No,” he mutters into my hair, voice rough with sleep.

A shiver traces my spine, and I curse myself for it. “I need water,” I whisper.

His arm loosens, and I slip out of bed before my body protests leaving his warmth. The floor is cool under my feet, grounding me. I grab a bottle of water from the minibar and take a long drink. When I turn around, he’s awake. Propped on one elbow, messy hair, eyes half-lidded, sprawled under my sheets.

“Morning,” I say softly.

His voice is gravel when he answers. “Come back to bed.”

The sound of it goes straight to my clit.

I shake my head. “If I get back in that bed, I’m afraid I’ll have to fuck you, and you said no fucking until we do that whole dinner thing.”

A slow, wicked curve pulls at his mouth. “You’re right. You should be proud of me, last night I was a good boy.” His eyes dart to my nightgown. “Though that little black number made it hard.”

Because I’m no better than a teenager, I point at the sheet where the outline of his cock presses against the cotton. “Is it still hard?”

He presses a hand on his length through the sheet. “Shut up. I woke up next to a beautiful woman. Take it as a compliment.”

I cross the room, back to the bed. Against my better judgement, I set my water on the nightstand and then crawl back ontothe mattress and curl into his side. As I settle against him, a heavy breath leaves his chest, and he places a soft kiss on my hair.

His hand drops to my back. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just annoyed that it happened.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry. I won’t let that happen again,” he says, calm and absolute.

I press up on my elbow, a hand on his chest. “While I appreciate it, you can’t promise things like that. There will always be twisted people out there.”

His eyes move to mine, and there’s something different there. Something almost comforting.

“Icanpromise that. No one will get close to you like that again.”

My eyes search his, and I know there’s no lie in his words. Then I remember he told me he works in security. He’s probably used to situations like this; he’s used to assuring someone’s safety.

“Okay.”

I place a kiss on his chest. I want to kiss every inch of him. He needs to leave, or I’m going to lose control.

“I need to start getting ready for the day.”

He nods, pulls my jaw to his lips, placing a kiss on the corner of my mouth. Then he stands, and I force myself to avoid openly appreciating the view. He looks entirely too good in my space—tall, with that firm ass that I know feels so good in my hands and all that smooth skin.

He pulls on his shirt. “Text me later. I’ll tell you when to be ready.”

“For the non-date?” I smirk.

“For our evening of spending time together,” he confirms, buttoning slowly.

I sit up. “You’re going to make me suffer all evening, aren’t you?”

He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my chin to hold his gaze. “Just trying to even the score, because I’ve been suffering since the first time I saw you, Bella.”

Heat coils low in my stomach as he brushes a kiss onto my cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”

After a few errandsand a late lunch, I stretch out for a nap. I’m almost asleep when a knock pulls me back to the surface. I scrub a hand over my face, push the covers back, pull on a robe and pad to the door. I know my hair is a mess. My thoughts aren’t much better.

A hotel attendant waits outside with a silver delivery cart polished to a mirror shine. On it sits a garment bag, a sleek black box, and a small velvet pouch.