Page 32 of Charlie Sunshine (Close Proximity #2)

THIRTEEN

MISHA - TWO WEEKS LATER

I come awake slowly, lying with my eyes closed and feeling the sun warm on my face and the softness of the sheets against my body. I move slightly and the scent of sex rises up in a dark and warm puff of air. My dick hardens instantly and I open my eyes to find my bed partner.

He’s lying next to me on his stomach with his face turned away.

His long hair is a wavy blond mess and the sun plays upon it, glittering in the strands.

The sheet is pushed down his body, just barely clinging to the swell of his arse, and his back is a long, lean olive stretch of skin.

One leg is out of the sheets, and I’ve learnt that he seems to achieve total comfort by being halfway in and halfway out of the covers.

Like he’s doing the hokey cokey with the duvet.

Anything else and he gets edgy and dramatically fussy, as if the sheets weigh more than a ton.

I edge closer and flatten myself against him, sighing happily at the feel of his body against mine. His entire gorgeous body—with its soft silky skin and hair-roughened surfaces—is mine to do as I like with. Like a long blond playground.

I rub my fingers over the freckles on his shoulders, smudges of colour as if he’s been dusted with cinnamon. He shifts position and sighs, the sound a soft exhalation in the stillness of the bedroom.

I abandon his freckles, fascinating as they are, and cuddle closer.

Yes, I cuddle closer. I shake my head. What the fuck is happening to me that I, Misha Lebedinsky, am now cuddling up to my bedmate who is unconscious so my motive isn’t even sex?

I bite my lip. This is cuddling for cuddling’s sake. How far have I fallen?

Charlie shifts again and turns over, throwing one long arm over me.

He nestles his face into my shoulder and gives a sleepy sound of contentment.

My stomach dips in a fashion that’s become familiar to me since I started this with him.

It happens when he smiles at me, his blue eyes shining with happiness, when he cuddles up on the sofa with me, when he makes me toast and kisses the crumbs from my lips.

It happens all the bloody time. At first I thought I was coming down with something.

I even took some Rennie. Unfortunately, I knew even then that this was just the side effect of being Charlie Burroughs’ boyfriend.

Boyfriend . I huff and rake my hand down my face, still being careful not to wake him.

I try the word out again. I am the boyfriend of Charlie Burroughs.

The man who I thought of as a friend for so long is now the man I look for first in the morning and last thing at night.

He’s the person I think of and smile like a twat over during the day.

He’s the source of my absentmindedness during work and my intense focus when we’re together.

We’d decided on the first night of being together that, if we were going to do this properly, then we would have to keep our separate bedrooms. We would need to date, he said earnestly.

And try to keep some things separate, because otherwise we’d end up breaking up. Space was imperative, according to him.

I’d nodded and agreed and left him at his door with a passionate kiss. I’d also smiled when the knock on my bedroom door came an hour later, sitting up and pulling the duvet back so he could slide into bed with me. He never went back to his own room.

I kiss his forehead, inhaling the scent of pears from his shampoo.

It’s always fruity. He changes it every week, and it seems to be entirely dependent on what fruit is his favourite at the time.

His silky hair is spread over my chest and tickling my chin.

I don’t know what to do with all these feelings.

I had my first sexual encounter when I was fifteen.

I never looked back, and I never got involved. Until now.

Tendrils of emotion are growing inside me, soft and silky like his hair but just as binding, and they make me think of him, consider his happiness before my own.

I’ve always considered Charlie’s happiness, but these impulses are stronger and much less controlled.

I’m just not going to put words to what they mean yet.

I look down at Charlie and smile. Not yet, anyway.

I want to enjoy him for now. Get to know him.

I thought I knew everything about Charlie Burroughs, but I’m realizing now that there’s a large chunk of him I don’t know.

I was aware he loved pepperoni and pineapple on his pizza and that he was allergic to penicillin and strawberries.

But now I know that he’s wildly affectionate in bed, free with his hugs, and confident and sure in his nakedness.

I know that when I put my hand on his back as we walk, or rush to open the door for him, his face will light up and he will give me a smile I’ve never seen before.

It’s warm and soft, and when it’s directed just at me, it’s as potent as drinking a bottle of wine.

For the last couple of weeks we’ve been to work and then fallen back into bed together the moment we’re home.

And not just bed. I’ve fucked him against the wall in the living room, over the kitchen table, and once on the balcony where he’d impressed on me that we had to be very, very quiet but then proceeded to shout my name at the top of his voice when he came.

I have a suspicion that the residents association might want a chat at some point.

Normally, I’d be thrilled with having so much sex that my dick actually feels chafed, but I can’t deny a little thread of worry.

I know Charlie and his dating history far too well to even consider that he’ll be okay with this for long.

Charlie Burroughs is a romantic. And me?

Well, I’m not. I hate all that soppy crap, but what I hate more is the thought of him being disappointed with me and walking away from us.

That makes me feel sick, and he stirs as I clutch him way too close.

“Oof,” he mutters, his lashes fluttering as he looks up at me. “Mmm, morning,” he whispers and reaches up to kiss me. His lips are full and soft, and I feel like I’ve stepped into a warm cloud for a second. Then I pull back and look down at him .

“Morning.” I clear my throat quickly. “You slept well.”

He chuckles and hugs me tight, sliding one leg over mine and nudging his knee gently over my very interested cock. “That’s because someone shagged me senseless last night and again in the early hours of the morning and—” He looks at the clock. “And because it’s two in the afternoon. Fucking hell.”

I stretch and lie back against my pillows. “It’s Saturday. We had a lie-in.”

“ You had a lie-in? Say it isn’t so.” His hair tumbles round his shoulders and his eyes warm as he gazes up at me. That feeling in my stomach comes again. I want to grab him and kiss him and squeeze him and never let him go. Apparently, I’m fifteen again.

I shrug. “I like lie-ins with you, not with anyone else.”

His eyes get warmer, and he gives me that smile again. The one I’m growing to adore and will apparently do anything to get. I think of the tickets and swallow.

“I thought we’d go out tonight,” I mutter.

He eyes me and rolls over onto his stomach, resting his arms on my belly and propping his chin on my torso. “Why?”

I shrug awkwardly. “I don’t want our entire time to be spent in bed.”

“Why?”

I glare at him and the naughty tilt of his mouth tells me he knows exactly what I’m trying to say, but the wanker is still going to make me say it.

“Because I don’t want the stuff I’ve had before. The fucking and clearing off.” I pinch his hip, and he writhes and chuckles before coming back to watch me with that bright gaze. “I want the Charlie Burroughs experience.”

“And what is that?”

I put my arms behind my head and stare up at the ceiling contemplatively.

“I want dates where we go out for meals and long walks. I want to do fun things with you so I can hear you laugh. I want to know more about you, because I’ve learnt that being your best friend got me insider info but it didn’t get me everything.

” I look down at where he’s watching me intently.

“I want the full backstage pass, sunshine.”

His smile widens, and his face glows. “That does sound perfect, Misha.” He brushes hair from his face. “So, where are we going?”

I bite my lip. “I bought us tickets,” I say tentatively. “And if you don’t like the idea, don’t worry. Just tell me.”

“Tickets to where?” He sits up excitedly and the sheets pool in his lap, revealing the width of his bare chest covered in sleek golden skin and more freckles. The sun dances on him like he’s covered in pollen.

“Hmm,” I say, stroking my hand down that chest and following the line of hair under his cute belly button to where the sheet blocks my view. “Ouch!” I say as he slaps my hand.

“No hanky panky,” he warns. “Where are we going?”

“Hanky panky? Is this suddenly the nineteen twenties?”

“Misha,” he warns me.

I groan, throwing my hand over my eyes. “I might have bought us tickets to see a play at the Globe.”

“The Globe?” He sounds stunned.

I remove my hand and wince. “Is it not right? I just thought what would Charlie like, and then searched around for whatever arty shit was on this weekend. I saw their programme and thought you’d enjoy it.”

“Oh my God,” he says loudly. “This is the best date idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Hardly,” I scoff. “It’s just a play.” I wink at him. “And dinner if you promise to put out.”

He punches me gently on the shoulder, his eyes glittering. “It’s the best,” he insists fiercely. “You used what you knew about me to create something you knew I’d love. And don’t think I’m unaware that it’s not your thing.”

“My thing is you,” I say softly. “I’ve been coming up with ideas for years. We just never called them dates.”

“Maybe we should have,” he murmurs. “We wasted a lot of time.”