I throw off the covers and hoist myself out of bed. I grab the bottle of aspirin tucked into my nightstand and my glass and make the trek to the kitchen-the built-in water dispenser in the fridge provides the best, most amazing cold water ever. Which is what I need right now.
I lean my head against the fridge as I wait for the glass to fill, down two aspirin with the water, then fill the glass again before I head back to bed with my eyes half-closed.
I slide under the now cool sheets-which makes me shiver a little-and rest my cheek against the pillow. Closing my eyes, I try to bring back the dream I was having before thirst woke me. I go back to the beginning, where he must have been dressed, because I'm a big fan of taking him from a suit to his birthday suit in my head. I imagine the way Bancroft-Bane-looks in his button-down with his tie hanging loose. Or his snug-fitting undershirt.
As I mentally undress him in my mind I can suddenly smell him. I must be on the verge of dreaming again because it's incredibly vivid. I snuggle deeper into the pillow, willing my mind to go where my body would like to. I hear a groan, low and deep and then the bed shifts and a heavy arm comes thudding down on my hip.
My eyes pop open. What the hell? This is definitely not a dream. At least I don't think it is. The bed shifts. Nope. Not a dream. Who the hell is in bed with me? The sheets rustle and the mattress dips as the hand attached to the arm that's resting on my hip starts moving up my body.
"Mmm. This feels nice," comes the mumbled, male voice that belongs to the hand exploring me over the blanket.
Holy shit. Bane is in bed with me. What is Bane doing in bed with me?
I'm frozen, sort of. I mean, I'm not really sure what I should do, because as much as I'm enjoying being felt up-even through the covers-I'm still really confused as to why exactly this has happened. Or how.
Suddenly Bane's very fit, very warm chest is pressed against my back. And wait. Oh my God. Oh my God. Is that . . . it can't be. Oh yes. It is.
Bane is naked. How do I know this? Because I can feel him against my lower back where my sleep tank has ridden up, leaving several inches of skin exposed. And his erection-his very hard, ample erection-is pressed right up against me. My theory on big hands is definitely true.
He nuzzles into my hair, burrowing his way through it until his stubbly chin rubs against my neck. I don't think he's actually awake. So I stay still, waiting for him to . . . I don't know . . . stop moving around? I just need him to settle and then I can figure out what I should do. Well, I know what I should do, but I'm enjoying this a little too much at the moment.
He doesn't settle, though. Instead, he adjusts the comforter so the hand that was exploring over the top is now exploring underneath. His arm comes around my waist, and then his warm fingers slide under the hem of my tank and splay across my stomach, moving up. He gets stuck at the elastic-y built-in bra and drags the fabric up.
He cups one of my boobs through several layers of cotton and groans. I barely restrain my own when he rolls his hips.
I open my mouth to say something, like maybe; "Hey, Bane. Why are you in my bed, feeling me up?" Or; "If you wanted to get your freak on with me, there are better, less awkward ways than creeping into my bed in the middle of the night and surprising me." Or even; "Mind if I check out how generous that stick is jabbing into my low back?"
But none of those things come out of my mouth. Instead all I do is whisper-moan Bancroft.
It doesn't seem to have an impact on the breast palming. In fact, he's gone from palming to kneading. He makes a second attempt to get under the elastic with a grunt.
I should stop this. My brain registers this thought and immediately wants to dismiss it as unnecessary.
I really should do something apart from lie here, because this shouldn't be happening in the middle of the night without some kind of adult discussion in which we weigh the consequences of me living in his house, being his pet sitter, and getting a little screw in on the side. Especially since he's mentioned he's not interested in getting into a relationship while he's doing all this traveling. But since I've been fantasizing about the exact scenario, I'm a little too willing to let it go on for a little while longer.
This time he makes it under the elastic, his wide, warm palm curving around my breast. And then I feel his hot breath on my neck, followed by his lips on my skin. Oh Jesus, is he going to, oh no . . . oh yes . . . he rolls my nipples between his thumb and finger, his groan vibrating against me as his lips part and his tongue sweeps across my skin.