Outside the bedroom window, birds were chirping, and I was being held to a firm body by a thick arm that was around my waist. I tried to move while blinking beyond the grogginess, but Smith's fortress was too solid for me to succeed. I didn't battle and fight first thing in the morning; instead, I died and fell back onto my pillow.
He made one eye open. "Where on earth do you think you're going?"
As soon as I heard his morning voice, which was gruff, arousal crept into my pelvis. Did he believe I would abandon him once more? I had already learned my lesson not to flee the next time—not if I didn't want to have aching eyes from too many movie theater viewings. Not to mention the excess of soda and popcorn. It's a miracle I'm still here. But even putting that aside, the complexity of having to explain where I was to him made each excursion unpleasant. "Smith, this is absurd. I have to use the restroom.
Before giving me some room, he grunted.
