Twice the Touch (10 page)

I need it to work.

Excerpt from Touch
to Surrender (Touch Series, #3)

A novelette
about Brayden's surrender

Brayden Zeagler

When I wake up again, my head is on a solid chest and a muscular arm is wrapped around my shoulders. My leg, I notice, is draped over Mark's thigh.
Oh, Jesus Christ
. This is what I'm supposed to rebel against. I'm not supposed to like this—want it, crave it, fucking
yearn
…

Feeling a twinge of panic, I carefully move away from his warmth. Mark shifts and turns, his breathing even and calm, and we end up on our sides. Close, but not touching.
Face-to-face, chest-to-chest, and…other parts.

Fuck
.

Willing my semi-hard dick to calm the fuck down isn't going to happen. So, I scoot down slightly, hoping to keep my morning wood away from his. Having seen Mark in action and woken up near him before, I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one who's hard. 'Cause it feels like he's always in the mood.

With my face to his collarbone instead, I hope it eliminates the risk of us, um, touching. And shit, I'm really overthinking this. But I can't help it. Around him, I tend to overanalyze everything.

Right now, there's a voice in my he
ad—the one that sounds ominously like my father's—and it tells me that a small scoot is too little. I should get out of bed and start my day. Or simply just get away from Mark. Yet…I stay. Close enough to feel his breaths on the top of my head. Close enough to feel his body warmth. Close enough to—
oh, shit
.

Holding my breath, I lie stock-still as Mark's arm comes down over my middle. He shifts once more, and then we're definitely touching. More than his arm around me. With my head tucked under his chin and his impressive body pressed against mine, I should panic further. I should run for the fucking hills.

There are plenty of them here in San Fran
.

But I don’t run. I'm tired of running.

I almost jump out of my skin when I hear his gruff, sleepy voice. "Why does it feel like I'm in bed with a robot?"

Maybe because I'm as rigid as one?

"Sorry," I mumble, swallowing hard. Fuck, I'm nervous. My heart is pounding too fast, and I'm painfully aware that my cock is brushing against his. Hopefully, he won't notice, but…who am I kidding? Mark always notices. He notices everything. He knows I'm struggling with my attraction for him, so why I even bother to hide it—since I fail, anyway—is beyond me.

"When are you g
oing to relax around me, pup?" he whispers. His hand gently rubs my back; it's a touch of comfort, because that’s what he does. He's always there to comfort and support. "I can touch you during a scene, but…" But that’s different. He doesn’t touch me intimately, even though his hands on me are always scorching and sensual. "I know you want it." His soft sleep-laced voice sends tremors down my spine.

I give a quick shake of my head in denial, but my words have run out. Though, despite my weak attempt at denying what I want, my body betrays me. All the time. The dreams I have, the fantasies running through my head…

It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong.

Dad's voice.

I hate him.

"Look at me, Brayden."

Forget it. No way. I can't—I…I obey.

Warily, I lift my head and peer up at him. As always, there's no judgment in his eyes. There's patience, plenty of it.

Does he know how fucking attractive he is? Does he know that, aside from Lina, he's the one I can't stop thinking about?

I bet he does.

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