A cloud.
Rolling over, Lillian felt as if she was sleeping on a cloud. Every position was even more comfortable than the last and, despite the grumble of her unhappy tummy, she was content. A sigh, a rustle, she felt the bed shift and froze there, hugging a pillow when she realized she wasn’t alone.
Her eyes snapped open to find the culprit lying on his back, one harm tucked under the pillow under his head, full powerful torso in view—blinking, Lillian tried to remember.
The football game.
Lucius barged into her room yesterday.
Guilted her about not going to the game.
Gave her spiked coke.
And the rest—leaning against him, laughing into his neck, the feeling his of feet beneath hers as he practically carried her to a bed, this bed—was kind of a blur.
