Thirty-eight

I wake up with Brandon's arms around my waist, his leg between mine and our bodies pressed against each other. My muscles scream in protest when I try to push him off in an attempt to get out of the bed and a new wave of annoyance hits me when his arms tighten around my waist. He stirs, runs his fingers across my naked stomach before trailing a line down my hips. I freeze, waiting for his breathing to return to normal so I can try again.

"El," he murmurs when I finally pry his arms off me, his voice unusually low and his hand blindly searching for me. "Don't leave me."

My body goes rigid, the butterflies in my belly flutter as my feet connect with the floor and I cast a tentative look at him. His closed eyelids, the wrinkles that appear on his forehead and the rising and falling of his chest call attention to me. I sigh, my decision to sneak out of the room crumbling like my resolve

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