Don't Go Baking My Heart

Devon’s eyes followed her movements as she twisted and turned her body while she stretched. Her top and shorts were cotton, perfect for moulding to every line and curve of her body, no matter how she moved.

“Yeah, I just bet,” he muttered. He remained standing over her, eyes roving her face like he couldn’t get over seeing her like this. “You’re still tired, aren’t you? You don’t hide it as well now.”

She rolled her eyes. “You seriously need to work on your compliments game. You really just told me, to my face, that I look tired.”

“But you do,” he pointed out.

“Yes, well, you said an hour, but I’m still not fully recharged. So now what?”

“Stay.”

The word surprised them both. Devon looked like he wanted to take it back immediately. Sometimes Reba could be altruistic and shit if she wanted, but she needed sleep more, and she was not about to tell him it was fine. If he wanted her to stay, she was damn well staying. The bed was super comfortable.

“Wow, do I really look so innocent without makeup that you just can’t help but feel sorry for me?” Reba had no remorse about using that to her advantage.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked up at Devon. She tugged on the ends of his t-shirt, swinging it back and forth, her knuckles almost touching his stomach but not quite.

“Yes.” He looked down at her hands on his t-shirt. She expected him to scold her about wrinkling his clothes again, but he kept his gaze on the motion of the fabric, not telling her to stop.

“You should have never admitted that.”

“It’s good to know your weaknesses, so you can work on conquering them.”

Oh, she liked night-time Devon. He seemed a lot freer with his words. “Devon, Devon, Devon. I’m not the type of weakness you get over.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I refuse to accept that.”

“Why are you fighting this so hard? Giving in doesn’t mean failing.”

“It’s late. I should get back to sleep. You can catch a few more hours before you need to go.”

“I don’t see you leaving, though.”

“You’re still holding onto my shirt.”

“But you could disentangle yourself at any time if you wanted.” She got to her feet, hands still playing with the hem of his t-shirt.

“My bathroom probably smells like you,” he said suddenly.

She cocked her head. She had brought along her own body wash as well. His bathroom totally smelled like vanilla. She loved the scent when baking and showering. “It does.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment before reopening them to fix her with his dark stare again. “Why the fuck are you doing this to me?”

“What am I doing?” she asked oh so softly. “Tell me in exact detail.”

His hand came up and gripped her shoulder. Reba felt his touch against her skin like a jolt. He played with the strap on her top, finger curled around it, as he tugged it up and down before releasing it to slide his hand up to cup her neck and squeeze ever so lightly.

Well, fuck. She felt that gentle grasp to her core.

“You can just pretend it was a dream tomorrow. If you want,” she managed to say.

Girl, stop talking.

Now wasn’t the time to scare him off. She was close to getting what she wanted. Trina’s voice talking about the bet echoed in her brain, but she mentally swiped it away. Yes, she wanted to win—he hadn’t said the words out loud, but his actions were telling her he definitely wanted her—but that wasn’t the only reason why she would let this happen if Devon was willing to take it there and not leave her hanging.

His hand was now fully encasing her throat, driving her out of her mind because holy hell, that shit was hot. She thought it was safe to say he wanted to take it there. He was free to change his mind at any point throughout, didn’t mean she wouldn’t pout about it. She was horny and needed some goddamn relief.

“Just a dream, huh?”