Hazel Eyes and Peaches

chapter 17:

A/N: PJs up top

I can barely breathe as he pulls back into his garage. The heat from his hand doing nothing to calm my racing heart. I just want to forget about everything that has happened today and sleep. I'm so tired of pretty much everything. Coming around the front of the car, Clay opens the passenger door, takes my hand, and gently helps me out. 

Grabbing all of the bags one again, we make our way inside, the house now quiet. We haven't been gone that long, but everyone must have left soon after his parents did for their date. His comforting, deep voice fills my ears as he shows me my room that I can sleep in (that's not-so-coincidentally attached to his) and tells me where the bathroom and towels are in case I would like a shower. 

I opt out of showering, just wanting to go to sleep. Everything is better after sleep and food.

After changing into my pajamas, consisting of a sun and moon matching PJ set of a cropped t-shirt and loose booty shorts, sleep doesn't come easy. The bed is comfortable, the room warm and homey, the fan sending soothing sounds into the room, and I still can't sleep. Something is missing. 

I'm searching for a warmth that when it's not here, I feel empty, cold, lonely. I've never felt like this before. I have felt a lot of pain, a lot of suffering, a lot of times where I felt alone in a room full of people. I still feel most of those things every day, but this is another thing entirely. 

It's kind of bizarre that this emotion is so prominent after seeming to face it for so many years of my life. When I'm with Clay, it disappears, my heart feels full...but now that he's not next to me, the emptiness returns.

He has made me feel certain things I had no idea I would ever feel. My heart racing, my palms sweaty, my cheeks flushing red. And not to be too blunt, my pussy throbs around him. With one flash of that smirk, I want to be under him, thrusting against him. Those tattoos are gorgeous, his body is designed with pure art, making him the art itself. 

He's pleasantly and aesthetically overwhelming. The dark and perfectly designed clothes he wears, the way he holds himself with confidence, the determination he has to be better than he was the day before. He's respectful, understanding, selfless, and educated. 

He is not ignorant in ways I have known people to be about various complicated and controversial topics. He listens to me and appreciates what I have to say. The way he holds me, caresses me, kisses me, takes care of me. And today, the way he learned about my scars but didn't make me feel any less human because of them.

I don't know how or why, but he encompasses more desirable things than I ever thought a man could. And that's only the bare necessities. He goes above and beyond for me. I'm unsure of what I'm doing when he's not around. I feel lost, insignificant, terribly lonely. It doesn't matter that I haven't known him long, at least it doesn't to me. 

Because he has done more for me in the last however many days than most people have in my entire life. Even Westin. He took me in from a bad situation but then tossed me into multiple rehabilitation centers. I didn't see it before, but he didn't even try to help me with all of the complex things going on with me after my mom passed and after my father did what he did to me. 

It can be a lot on one person, but I helped him through his depressive moments and his own situations while I was going through what I was going through. I sacrificed fun and exciting parts of my life to take care of him, and I don't regret it, but I hoped that he would pay me that same respect.

With Clay, he shows me that I deserve good things, that I can get better. And I can have someone I trust by my side.

Speaking of him, I hear a knock on my door before his soothing voice comes through.

"Peaches, are you asleep?"

Peaches. I don't even know where he came up with that.

"No, I'm awake."

"Can I come in?"

Hell yeah, he can!

"Sure."

He opens my door softly, his bare chest and biceps quickly coming into view. I rub my lips, subtly making sure that my mouth is closed before moving over in bed to give him some room if he would like to lay down. Giddiness fills his steps as he makes his way to me, and I can barely contain my smirk at his openness to lay down next to me. 

His feet slide under the covers. His head landing between my legs and laying on my lower stomach. His hands glide up my legs and shift them so they over his shoulders. The thumping in my chest increases as he runs his fingers down the back of my thigh. I massage at his soft almost silky hair, only to hear him grumble in appreciation. 

His warmth soaks into me, cradles me, relaxes me. With the soft rush of cars down the street, his body replacing the too hot of covers (now tossed to the side), the focus that I have as I rush my finger through his hair, falling asleep is no longer a problem.