Finally Ours (Harborview #2)

8. Carter

8

CARTER

Angela goes still as I mention our return to Harborview. I scan her features, trying to decipher what she’s thinking. Unlike most people, Angela doesn’t have many tells. She has a near perfect poker face. And she’s employing it right now, and frustratingly I have no idea what she’s thinking.

“Alright,” she finally says. “Should we go to sleep? It’s early but we don’t have anything else to do. Like I said, I can sleep on the?—”

“No. You are not sleeping on the floor. How many hours of sleep do you think you’ll get if you do that?”

“Um. A few.”

“Liar,” I say. “I’ll take the floor. The futon has a few extra cushions on it, which I can make do with. And I’ll use my jacket as a blanket. I can sleep in any situation.”

“You just told me you’ve been having trouble sleeping recently.” She arches a brow at me.

“But I can still sleep better on the floor than you can. And I have lots of practice sleeping on the ground while camping. For me, it’s my brain that won’t shut up, not my body.”

“Fine,” she says. “I accept.”

“So magnanimous of you, to accept sleeping on the futon while I languish on the hard floor,” I can’t help but say.

“Carter!” she snaps. “This was your idea.”

“Alright, alright,” I say.

She gets up from the chair in a huff and moves to the bed. She removes some of the extra pillows and tosses them on the floor. Then she lays down and pulls the blanket over her.

I set up a makeshift pallet on the floor, and figure that the pillows will allow me to sleep with at least half of my body on something other than hard wood.

I turn the lights off, and in the dim light from the window, make my way onto the floor. I hear a rustle, and turn to see Angela maneuvering something under the covers.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Taking my leggings off. I like sleeping mostly naked.”

“Oh.”

Oh is right. I haven’t really thought about what being trapped in such a confined space with her means, but I am now. I imagine the curve of her ass bared in the morning light. Her shirt riding up, exposing her back. Her long hair trailing across her sleeping form.

Fucking hell.

I banish those thoughts from my mind, though not successfully enough to quell the swelling of my cock in my pants.

“What, uh, what can I do to help you sleep?” I ask.

A thousand dirty responses fill my mind. And an image of me with my mouth on her cunt, tasting her, pleasuring her, until she’s tired enough to sleep.

“You could, um,” she starts. “Just stay up and talk to me. Like before.”

Like before. Before—years ago, after we’d finished having sex, after she’d ridden me and I’d all but found myself inside her, and we’d both been calm and happy, we went to sleep in the same bed and I talked to her until I fell asleep.

“I can do that,” I say.

And so we talk. First about birds, and my research, which I’m surprised she finds interesting. And then about her job, and how she likes living in Harborview now. We talk about random things too. The last book I read. Her moms’ plans for renovating the house. Just pointless conversation for the sake of conversation. Of connection. No barbs, no provocation, no pushing buttons trying to see what makes the other person flinch. No games.

I feel more satisfied than I have in years.

Finally, I feel myself start drifting off.

“Goodnight, Carter,” I hear her say quietly.

“Night, Ange.”

And then I’m out.

I wake up with the sun shining through the large window and with my cock hard as a rock. My dreams were full of Angela: Angela’s hair, Angela’s soft tits, Angela’s lips around my shaft. Every few hours I’d wake up and see the hazy outline of her in bed, and my fantasies would start all over again.

I look over and see that she’s still asleep, with the covers pulled over her head blocking out the light. Her foot and calf are hanging out of the bed, and as I lay there wishing I could jerk off, I obsess over that small glimpse of skin.

I drift in and out of sleep for a while longer, until Angela gets up and I wake up as well. I see a flash of her bare legs as she heads to the bathroom, and take the chance to hurriedly adjust my boxers so my morning wood is less apparent, and pull on some dry clothes.

Christ. I feel like I’m seventeen again, getting a hard-on from something as mundane as watching her take notes in history class.

By the time she’s done in the bathroom, I’m up and chewing on an apple, with the electric kettle boiling. Hal has some tea and instant coffee here, which I imagine Angela might want.

“Morning,” I say. “Sleep okay?”

“I did, actually. The hike and the storm wore me out,” she says, though for some reason she’s blushing. “How was the floor?”

“Hard,” I say.

Her eyes immediately go to my crotch.

“Oh,” she says, not moving her eyes.

“Up here, Angela,” I say, and tap my temple.

“Shut up.”

I give her a wide smile and shrug my shoulders. “If you want to keep looking…”

“Gross.”

“The weather still looks a bit nasty,” I say, changing the subject. The wind is still blowing and while it’s not raining, the gray clouds promise it could start back up again at any minute. “I’m going to go outside and try to find some cell phone reception. I’ll call somewhere in town and let them know we’ll be hiking in today, hopefully. I’m sure Captain Jones let them know we were out here. I’ll also call Jamie and update him.”

“Okay,” she says. “Can you also text my moms for me?”

I give her my phone and she types in their numbers.

“I won’t be longer than twenty minutes,” I say and then I head out into the waning storm.