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“Thanks,” I whisper, trying to ignore the way Gulliver is watching me, like he’s planning something. Clearing my throat, I take a drink of my beer. “What movie are we watching?”
“How do you feel about action movies?” Kip asks with the remote in his hands as he scrolls through the movie selection on the TV.
“I’m easy as long as it’s not horror. Those films give me nightmares for weeks, and I’d be making one of you come with me to the bathroom to make sure there are no clowns or anything in there.” I say, shuddering as memories of the last horror film I watched flash into my mind.
“No creepy clowns, got it,” he says with a laugh, selecting a recently released action movie and hitting play.
Someone dims the lights, and I exhale a tired sigh, relaxing back into the couch cushions while I try to ignore the mesmerizingly soft sweeps of Gulliver’s fingers across my skin. I don’t know how to process his behavior. First he finds out I exist; then he and his friends play a cruel joke on my family and blackmail me into playing along. Then he searched for me when I stopped answering his calls and didn’t turn up at school. He tracked me down at a hotel and insisted I move in with him. Now he’s touching me like I’m his and kissing me like we’re a couple and not just two strangers that are still using each other.
I hate that I feel so conflicted. His remorse has never felt dishonest, but I’ve seen the calculated cruelty he’s capable of delivering. I’ve seen the steel behind his eyes and dealt with his uncaring disinterest.
As I muse why I feel so comfortable with this group of men who aren’t my friends but who have shown me more friendship than I’ve ever had, Beth slips into the room, delivering four huge pizza boxes, then plates, napkins, and silverware that all get ignored as the guys dive on the boxes like starving animals.
I’ve only ever had pizza a handful of times. Mom always said that greasy, carb-rich food was completely out of the question if we didn’t want to get fat, so I only tried it for the first time last summer when I was in Spain.
Leaning forward, I lift a piece from the box. The cheese is gooey and hot when I take a bite, and my moan of pleasure has all four guys turning to stare at me. “What?” I ask, mid-chew, with my mouth full.
“Fuck, you can’t make noises like that,” Davis groans, earning a punch in the arm from Gulliver.
“What are you talking about? I’m appreciating how good this pizza is. I haven’t had any in months.” Shrugging, I take another bite and moan again when the rich tomato, spicy pepperoni, and creamy cheese hit my taste buds.
“Eighteen years old, and I just figured out that pizza is the way to seduce girls,” Thorn says, his brow furrowed, lips parted, and shoulders slumped forward.
“Carbs are like crack when you’re forced to live on salad, grilled chicken, and quinoa,” I tell him, finishing my slice and immediately reaching for a second as the guys continue to watch me.
“I’ve never fucking understood why girls don’t eat properly. I like a bit of meat on my women, something to hold on to. These super skinny girls do nothing for me,” Kip says, pushing the pizza box closer to me as I finish my second slice.
“Penelope basically lives on green juice. She hates that I even eat breakfast in the morning,” I say, taking a pull of my beer before reaching for another slice.
After finishing my fifth slice, I fall back onto the couch, rubbing my stomach. “That was the best.”
Gulliver’s rough chuckle rumbles against my ear, and I realize that I’ve unknowingly moved closer to him, so my head is leaning against the crook of his arm. I start to move, but his hand clamps down on my shoulder, keeping me in place. “Don’t move,” he orders gruffly, curling his arm around me and cuddling me into him until his thigh is pressing against mine and I’m nestled against his side.
“Relax,” he whispers, his lips pressed against my ear. “We’re just watching a movie.”
Inch by inch, the tension leaves my body, and I allow myself to settle, not moving any closer but not pulling away either. The heat of his chest, the lowered light, the food and beer, all combine, and before I know it, my eyes are closing as sleep overtakes me.
“Izzy.”
“Izzy, baby, wake up.”
The rough, familiar voice pulls me from sleep, and I blink my eyes open, finding myself cuddled up against a hard chest. A wave of lust, hot and vivid, pulses through me when I look up to find Gulliver smiling down at me with the same wickedly sinful look in his eyes that I was just dreaming about. Only in my dream, I wasn’t sleeping on him. His head was between my legs, coaxing me into orgasm after orgasm while I screamed his name and begged him not to stop.
“Hey, Little Ghost. I thought I was going to have to carry you up to bed,” Gulliver says, his voice a low purr that sends warm tendrils pouring through my body.
“Hey,” I whisper, my voice still thick with sleep. Blinking, I turn my head from side to side, recognizing the soft fabric of his shirt beneath my cheek and the view of the dimly lit den around us. When it dawns on me that I’m lying on him with my face pressed into the curve of his neck, I quickly sit up, embarrassed heat filling my cheeks. “I’m…oh god. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” I mumble, mortified that I’ve somehow managed to practically crawl on top of him while I slept.
“Hey,” he says, laughter filling his voice. “Don’t be embarrassed. I like having you on top of me. The noises you make in your sleep are fucking adorable. I recorded them so I can listen to them the next time I jerk off.”
The chorus of male laughter that fills the room makes my skin bloom red and my blood boil with indignant anger. “You’re such an asshole,” I groan, covering my face with my hands as I push myself to my feet.
Gulliver’s laugh is loud as he stands up and reaches for me. “You’re too fucking cute, Little Ghost, or maybe I should start calling you Little Moaner from now on.” He chuckles amusedly.
Shrugging off his touch, I barge past him and out of the room, the sound of the guys’ laughter behind me only making me feel even more stupid for relaxing enough to fall asleep around the four of them.
Strong arms curl around my waist before I can escape into the room I’m staying in. “Come on, Little Moaner, we’re only teasing you. Don’t go to bed mad. Didn’t anyone tell you that’s the key to a successful marriage?” He laughs, pressing his warm lips against the pulse point on my neck.
“I don’t find your jokes very funny, and we’re not actually getting married,” I hiss, futilely pushing at his hands.
