Take It On The Run

Chapter 41

POV: Sloan

I dreamt of the guys, imagining we were snuggling in a warm, sensual dogpile. Then I dreamt of them making me come over and over again—in my large bed on the third floor, on the training room mats, in the kitchen and showers, out in the backyard, against every wall and counter and table inside the house on St. Charles Avenue.

I wanted it to be real, wanted the last twenty-four hours to be a nightmare. It was almost possible to believe that as I took every phantom thing they threw at me—every bite and lick and thrust.

But it wasn't real, and I couldn't afford to dream of such things until all of this was over. Couldn't touch myself at the thought of the men I loved even though I was desperate to.

In the early hours of the morning, I felt my brain screaming at me to get a grip, that danger was near and that I needed to open my eyes.

The moment I woke in the plush bed, with the tentative blue rays of dawn streaming through the stained glass windows like a kaleidoscope, I sensed that I wasn't alone.

My head lolled to one side, and sure enough, Liam Murphy was sitting next to me on the mattress, his broad back pressed against the headboard as he stared down at me with a heated expression, as though he'd just been debating on breaking his vow not to touch me.

It was disturbing, to say the least, but I had to act like I wasn't totally creeped the hell out by a strange man watching me sleep.

"Morning." I plastered a shy, lopsided grin onto my face as I stretched, and his pupils flared at the action.

"What were you dreamin' of?" I didn't miss the way his golden gaze flicked to my erect nipples before lingering on the white Tulane logo of my t-shirt.

Fuck.

My dumb ass was out here leaving a trail of breadcrumbs straight to Avery. It'd seemed like a good idea yesterday, a hallmark that would've stood out in a foreign country. Now I realized the oversized men's shirt was too revealing.

I wasn't sure how much Liam Murphy knew, but he'd obviously gone to the guys' places of work to learn more or to do worse than merely snoop. It was just a matter of time before he interrogated me over the photos of me and Avery screwing on the boat.

"I can't remember," I lied.

"Too bad. I woulda enjoyed recreatin' the cause of such soft, interestin' noises."

My cheeks heated as I recalled the vivid, bountiful sex dreams I'd had. I'd probably been moaning. Hopefully, I hadn't called out anyone's name.

Eyes still on my breasts, Liam continued, "I've provided you with an extensive wardrobe, Sloan. Why are you still wearin' that ratty t-shirt?"

Did he already understand its significance? Was he jealous of Avery? Regardless of what he knew, I wasn't going to confirm anything.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize. I passed out before exploring last night," I offered by way of explanation.

"That's fine, but in the future, I expect you to dress like my wife—like a goddess to be worshiped."

My brows lifted. "Even when I'm asleep in bed?"

His voice deepened. "Especially when you're in bed." He looked like he was fighting some baser instinct to claim me then, to show me how he planned to worship and unwrap me. I breathed a sigh of relief when he moved on. "Did you find the bed to your likin'?"

"It was super comfy." When he frowned, I said, "Why do I get the feeling that you don't want me to be comfy here?"

"I was hopin' you'd hate it. Then I'd have an excuse to move you into my room and service you like a queen every mornin'."