Wanting My Assistant

Chapter 33

   My eyes flutter, my hands planted on hard muscle. A yawn stretches along my face and my skin tingles with the soft stroke of a large hand. I inhale a deep breath, cologne and spices filling my senses. Warmth blooms along my cheeks. And my heart starts to race in my chest.

   Dawson.

   A hum leaves my throat and I wiggle closer to his warm body. A soft chuckle leaves him and a smile curves at my lips. The light sound travels through my body like medicine, soothing every pain in my body. My thigh presses into his hip and I curl my leg around his, clinging to his body. He continues slow strokes on my back, his hand beneath the shirt I'm wearing. His large, warm hand against my skin makes my heart race. It's so possessively calming. The way he holds me like this. Like there is nothing to worry about. Like life is just a second thought.

   I feel so much better. I slept like a rock. I feel energized again. Much warmer. And full. His lasagna was so good last night. I ate at least half the pan.

   Last night...

   Shit. He saw me at my worst. I barely ever have those types of panic attacks, but there are some things that just push me over the edge and I can't get out.

   "I'm sorry you had to see that," I rasp into his neck, my pointer finger tracing the lines of his abs. My voice is slightly higher, still groggy with sleep. Dawson's hand never stops stroking my back as he leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead.

   "It's okay," each word makes his lips brush against my skin and I close my eyes, relishing the feeling of his lips on my skin.

Safe. I feel safe in his arms. Every brush of his skin against mine makes my nerves come alive. It's nice, waking up to him again. Hell, I missed it. More than I should. I missed his hard body pressed to mine. I missed his raspy voice in the morning. I missed his cooking. I missed him.

So much.

Silence stretches between us but I make no move to change it. It's comfortable. He stayed with me. He didn't have to. He chose to stay with me. For some reason, that makes me feel better.

I draw random patterns on his chiseled chest, pressing my cheek to his collar bone, the thumping of his heart steady and fast. "Thank you for staying," I murmur, my eyes trailing after my pointer finger as I drag it lightly across his skin.

"Staying was easy, darling," his voice is heavy, groggy. Still raspy from sleep. It makes shivers run up my spine, "Getting me to leave is going to be hell." My heart stutters in my chest, my throat closing as my eyes burn with emotion. Heat trails along my cheeks and his fingers never stop stroking my back so soothingly.

He wants to stay with me?

"What about work?" The question just draws a grunt from him, his fingers gripping at the skin of my thigh as the soft touch of his other hand on my back keeps me relaxed. Butterflies flutter to life in my stomach and heat burns through my body. He always makes me feel this type of way. I don't know how he does it, but he manages to make me feel this every time.

   Even though I should be doing something. Anything. Brushing my teeth, brushing my hair, getting real clothes on. I don't move. Being this close to Dawson makes me feel so good. So, so good.

   My eyes fall closed again and a content feeling settled over my body. My mind finally quiet as Dawson's hand pulls my attention to the soft pattern he's subconsciously tracing on my back. It's his initials.

He's not doing it possessively, he's just dragging his pointer finger along my back, holding me close. I don't think he even knows that he is doing it.