Page 9 of Handle Me

“Yes,” I said, turning on my iciest voice. “I felt so bad for walking out on your yesterday that I did just that after I reorganized your closet. Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“I never said it made sense!”

He paced the length of the room, giving me glimpses of his annoyingly perfect body. Why were the beautiful ones always such arrogant asses?

“I mean, I was sleeping,” I continued, trying to find an argument amongst my excuses.

“And you said my name,” he reminded me. “Repeatedly.”

“So, wait, were you awake in bed with me?” I demanded. “Why were you in bed at all?”

“Because it’s my bed!” he exploded. He paused, his fist balling up so tightly that his knuckles went white. I braced myself, expecting him to put it through the wall. Instead, he shook his hand loose and, with a strained calm, turned to me. “Why were you in my bed?”

“I got tired.” That answer was easy because it was true. I’d spent the better part of the evening sorting through Anders’ life and putting it into piles. It was clear he’d never bothered to do that before. “I laid down.”

Frustration rolled off him in waves. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, and then repeated the first two steps a half dozen times.

I’d frazzled him, so I seized my opportunity. “I was asleep.” I clung to that fact like a life preserver. “Obviously, I had no idea what was happening.”

“You said my name,” he grumbled again. But this time, something clicked, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Wait, if you were asleep—”

“I was,” I interjected quickly.

“—and you said my name. Well, moaned it, really. Were you dreaming about me?”

Now would be an absolutely delightful time for the apocalypse to occur. But no sounding trumpets or horseman appeared to save me. “I don’t remember my dreams. I could have been saying anything in my sleep.”

“I think you’re lying.”

So, Anders wasn’t going to be a gentleman and let me escape with only my dignity ruffled. He was going to tease me about this until I cracked. But he didn’t know me yet. He had no idea how much pressure I could take. If he thought he could break me, he was in for a surprise.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” I crossed to where he stood and glared up at him, wishing more than ever that I had my shoes on. “I have no clue what happened. I just woke up kissing you.”

“Is that so?” He leaned down, bringing his face closer to mine. “You forgot that your hand was on my dick.”

I refused to so much as blink, even though heat colored my cheeks. My body might have betrayed me, but there was no way I would confess that I remembered a single thing.

When I didn’t speak, he lifted an eyebrow, looking both impressed and agitated. “Tell me the truth, boss. You were dreaming about fucking me. You woke me up begging for it. Would it have been so bad to actually give in to what your body obviously needs?”

“My body what?” I shrieked, my eyes widening until they watered. “You think I need a shag?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You need a fuck. To be specific, you need to fuck me.”

“Why would you think I need that?” I spit back even as a shiver raced up my spine at the suggestion. I’d almost done just that. I’d even considered pretending to still be asleep when I realized what had happened. I didn’t know what was worse: claiming sleep as an alibi or Anders seeing right through the attempt.

“Do you want a list?” he said with a snort. He opened his hand and counted on his index finger. “You fell asleep in my bed.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I shot back.

He ignored me and continued. “You woke me up grinding that plump, little ass against my morning glory.”

“Now I know you’re lying,” I said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You called my name, grabbed my hand, and pushed it against your pu—”

“You put your hand there first!” I realized my mistake instantly, but it was too late.

“Did I?” he asked. “I was hardly awake. I don’t really remember.”