Look Back at Me (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 1)

Being in Bed Together

2/2 <3 K.

She gave him a warm smile - and then leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"You are helping," she whispered. "I don't know how - it's not like you're particularly well-versed in emotional support," she added a good-natured joke. "But you are. I eat with you. I feel better about my body. I– I feel good near you."

He wrapped his healthy arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. She pushed her nose into his neck and inhaled his smell - this time intentionally.

"I still don't get it," he said pensively, and Viola peeked at his face. "You do know you're fit, right? So why would you worry what you look like in bed?" he asked in a confused tone. "I'm not arguing, I reckon if you say that's the aggro, then that's the aggro. But why would you need to 'monitor' yourself?"

Viola sighed and tucked a runaway curl behind her ear.

"Because that's just the nature of my disorder. Intellectually, I know I can eat whatever I want and I don't need to lose weight, or that you won't care if I have folds on my waist if I bend sideways - but I just can't stop thinking about it."

"What folds?!" he asked, his eyebrows jumping up in bewilderment - and then he glanced down her body. "You do realise if you're bending in any way, I won't be looking at your waist!" Viola snorted. "No, Vi, seriously," he continued, "you properly have nothing to worry about here!"

"You're missing the point, love," she said. "The reality doesn't matter in this case. It's all in my head."

He was quiet again, and Viola slowly lifted her hand and splayed it on his chest. He'd gotten significantly 'furrier' with years, and suddenly the temptation was just too strong. It was an odd experience: as if some sort of tingling warmth was spreading through her body, from where her palm lay over his heartbeat, and then into her forearm, and then upper arm. With the warmth, came awareness: of the sleeve of his tee, soft against her skin; of where their bodies connected, his side and her stomach; his hard hip, half of it separated from her body by his pants, and half of it pressed into the bare skin of her thigh; his leg, warm and hairy against hers. Something sweetly pulled in her stomach, under her navel, and then the achy tension spilled between her legs.

You just told the man having sex is an issue for you, Viola. And now you're squeezing your knees because suddenly it doesn't seem like an issue at all. Talk about wishy-washy. Or willy-nilly. Or a cocktease.

"We should try to sleep," he said and yawned - and Viola jolted.

The contrast between her lustful thoughts and his complete ignorance of them was so jarring that she gave out a small shocked laugh.

"And honestly, Vi, I know you said it didn't matter, but I properly don't care what lingerie you're wearing," he said with another yawn. "That pink thing you had the first day was ace, of course, but I fancy you like this too." He looked down at her. "And yes, your hair kind of looks like a mop." He smirked. "A properly sexy mop."

"Well, thank you," Viola muttered.

"But seriously," he said and slid down the bed, pulling her after him. "Maybe we should just share a bottle of Jameson, and see where it gets us."

Viola rose on one elbow and stared at him sarcastically.

"Obviously, if you feel like it. I'm not trying to ruffie you, or something," he added nonchalantly.

"Darling," she said, "it's you I'd worry for after that bottle of Jameson. Remember I had two beers with John, was feeling dicky, and I still almost shagged you in your truck. Imagine if I had a bed at my disposal in that state."