Clay's Unwanted Blondie

Chapter 34

๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙BROOKE ˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑

HE WAS one of them men that never had a bad hair day. That had hair the stuff of shampoo commercials.

His Romanesque nose only flared once in a while when he snored, his long eyelashes brushed his sculptured cheek bones.

Yes, she had slept next to him when they were in Seoul and in Romania(for the briefest moment really before she packed her bags and went home) but here it was different.

Right now she was looking at a man who was going to build her world for a couple of months and shatter it completely when he found out the truth about her illness.

The truth of the matter was, she felt a tad bit guilty and a hypocrite but she also chose to be selfish.

After everything Clay had said last night while she stripped him down of his clothes and later when he snuck into her bed refusing to vacate it, she was indeed going to be selfish and hang on to his words, to him and to his world.

To get a glimpse of happiness before her expiration date knocked on her door in the form of a Grim Reaper with a scythe to take her soul away.

Clay's eyes shot open and together they were staring at each other's souls, reading each other's every thought and she all but shivered under him.

The morning had been defined by her waking up to his hands banded around her waist, her attempts to move only became futile because she had ended up sleeping on her side, Clay's face inches away from hers.

The old her might have garnered her ego in a ball and pushed him off as soon as his eyes fluttered awake.

The new her however didn't have the energy to repulse this tank of a man with the sky blue irises peering at her like she was everything he wanted but didn't get to have.

"I swear they were bloody raccoons", he said, his voice stronger, more vibrational than normal.

His morning breath might have hit her but it only reeked of alcohol to a minimum and mint.

Something else poked her stomach too but she wasn't complaining.

Nope, no complains there.

"You maimed my front yard", she accused, he leaned down, the sheets squeezed with the movement but he never not once retreated his hands from where they were on her waist.

Oh instead, those greedy hands of his dug deeper into her satin nightgown unknowingly bunching the material up her naked ass.

"Our front yard. This house is yours as it is mine"

"You've barely stayed here enough to call it your home Clay"

Though the fact that he had drunk driven his way there without losing direction told her that maybe it was his house indeed.

His hand sneaked out of the sheets, out of their warmth reaching for her hair and tucking it behind her ear.

While Clay's hair barely looked out of place, hers...well it was wacky,  each strand stuck to each other like fingers covered with syrup.

"You are here. I call anywhere you are, home"

She battered her eyelids, peering at him with mistrust.

"You are still drunk, aren't you?"

He laughed. A chuckle from the pits of his stomach. A once in a lifetime occurrence.

"My head's throbbing with a migraine and I might regret stumbling against the neighbor's cats but it got me here... in bed... with you and damn me but I'll say whatever you want to hear for you to take me back"