Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Are you warming up?” she asks.
My eyelids are heavy and I’m already fighting sleep. “Some. My feet are still numb.”
I feel movement and the next thing I know, she’s spooning me from behind. My eyes fly wide open with alarm. Her soft breasts are pressing against my back, and I don’t mind it at all.
“Just warming you up,” she says softly.
That’s an understatement. The blood may not be flowing in my feet, but my cock is twitching to attention. This isn’t me making a move on her, and it’s not her making a move on me, either. But it feels damn good.
I’m too tired to overthink it, so I cover her hand with mine and give in to the pull of sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Trinity
I’m fighting my urge to inhale, kicking my legs wildly in a futile fight. It’s dark. I claw at my scalp, trying to find the hands holding me beneath the water’s surface, but I can’t find them.
This is it. My chest burns, every impulse I have telling me this is the end of my life. A wave of panic seizes me. I reach out wildly, waving my arms in a desperate bid to make contact with anything.
My scream will be the end of me. It comes out silently, but I can still feel it deep inside.
“Trin?” Lincoln cries. “What the fuck is going on? Talk to me!”
I suck in a breath, my lungs filling with the oxygen I thought I’d never have access to again. I’m sitting up, my palms pressed to the mattress and my heart racing.
I’m in the cabin. It was the nightmare that has plagued me for years, and I must have actually screamed in real life and woken Lincoln up.
“I’m fine.” I’m breathless, the anguish still fresh in my mind.
“Is there someone in here?”
I can tell from his voice that he’s out of bed and close to the wall of weapons. That could go badly, so I force myself into a calmer state.
“I had a nightmare, Linc. I’m sorry I scared you.”
His exhale is heavy with relief. “Fuck. The way you screamed, I thought--”
“I’m sorry.”
I close my eyes, shame edging in to compete with my relief. Anxiety even follows me into sleep. Why am I like this? I just want to have normal dreams, like being able to fly.
“Hey.” Lincoln’s tone is soft, his voice closer to me now. “Nothing to be sorry for.”
He gets back into bed and pulls the covers over himself.
“You’re exhausted and I woke--” I stop talking as he pulls me into his arms, making sure my back stays covered by blankets.
“What was your nightmare about?” he asks.
I settle my cheek against his chest, his warm skin and strong embrace soothing me. He’s not even a little bit irritated. My college boyfriend wouldn’t stay the night with me because of my nightmares and the sleep they cost him.
“I was drowning.”
“Damn. I’ve never had that one. My most frequent nightmare is that I shoot a goal for the other team and it wins them the game.”
I smile, amused. “Where does that even come from?”
“Probably my unhealthy obsession with winning.”
I’ve never snuggled against a man with a body like his. My palm rests on his chest, where I can feel his heart beating. My knee rests against his thigh and I think about hooking it over his leg, quickly dismissing the idea.
Just this. This comforting embrace is more contact than I’ve had with a man in a very long time, and it feels good. I don’t want anything to ruin it.
“Where does the drowning nightmare come from?” he asks, his breath a warm caress on my forehead.
“Oh, um...I guess from my deep-seated anxiety?”
There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again. “Is that something you’re comfortable talking about, or should we talk about something else?”
“My anxiety?” His question catches me by surprise.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t mind talking about it.”
“My teammate who had depression, his name was Jacques. And the thing he hated about it the most was that it would hit him out of nowhere sometimes. He’d say he had nothing to be depressed about, but it was there anyway. Is your anxiety like that?”
I hum softly against his chest, feeling seen. “Very much so. Anxiety is my baseline. I don’t have to have a legitimate thing to worry about, but when I do have something big, it spirals. Or I guess it used to. The medication I’m on has been life-changing.”
“When did you go on it?”
“In college. I was twenty-one and there was a campus therapist who told me about it.”
He pulls me the tiniest bit closer and my pulse quickens. Am I just starved for human companionship, or are these feelings I’m having for him real?
“How’s the withdrawal going?” he asks.
“Better. The sickness is a lot better, but...I don’t know; it’s just an adjustment. I forgot what it feels like to have anxiety at the forefront of my mind all the time.”