Sleeping With Trouble
The moment he handed Eva the pills, she recoiled as if he'd offered her cyanide. Her lips pressed tightly together, her shoulders tense.
Damien blinked in disbelief. Seriously?
He hadn't seen anything like this before , except one time back in college.
A long-forgotten memory flickered in his mind, he remembered one certain evening, he was taking a quiet stroll around the neighborhood, years ago, and when he passed by the Clarkson residence, he was surprised to hear some loud noises.
Curious, he'd peeked through the fence.
What he saw stunned him.
Ana_ yes, Ana Clarkson, the top of her class, elegant, intelligent, the girl who always walked like a queen, was running in circles around the garden, crying and yelling, with her parents chasing her like they were in a sitcom.
Her father finally caught her and pinned her down while her mother shoved pills into her mouth. Ana thrashed like a wild animal, her screams echoing through the yard.
Damien had crouched behind the fence, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh. It was shocking, but… also oddly fascinating. The brilliant, untouchable Ana reduced to a child all because she couldn't bear to take medicine. He later learned that she has a phobia for drugs.
Now here he was again, witnessing an almost identical performance, this time from Eva.
He couldn't help but wonder. Is this normal with women? But then he remembered his sister Vivian, she doesn't act like this with drugs.
Still, he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. Women really are something else.
"Eva," he said, his tone turning firm. "You have to choose. It's either the pills or the injection. There's no third option. Decide, now."
Her face crumpled in reluctant defeat. With a heavy sigh and trembling fingers, she took the pills from his hand.
But as she popped them into her mouth and tilted her head back, Damien noticed that familiar expression again, her brows tightened, her throat tensed like she was about to gag.
"No," he said immediately, narrowing his eyes. "Don't even think about it."
Eva froze mid-swallow, her wide eyes meeting his sharp ones.
And just like that... she held it in.
How could Damien possibly forget what she made him do earlier, after she vomited all over the suite?
He, Damien Lopez, the brilliant CEO, the man who once closed a multi-billion-dollar deal without breaking a sweat, was forced to grab a mop and a bucket to clean up after her mess. It was humiliating. Unbelievable. Maddening.
And yet... for some strange reason, he hadn't felt entirely repulsed while doing it.
Annoyed? Yes. But disgusted? No.
That alone terrified him.
Rather he got worried for her.
After she managed to take her meds, barely, he had to coax her to sleep as well. She kept curling up like a frightened kitten, twisting and wriggling into a tight ball. She was exhausted, her earlier cries still echoing faintly in his ears. The drama she played was just too exhausting for her weak state. So Damien, ever the reluctant caretaker, sat by her side and began to gently rub her back.
He told himself it was just to help her sleep faster. Nothing more.
But it worked. In minutes, she drifted off.
Damien exhaled, rubbing his face with both palms. Finally.
He hadn't accomplished a damn thing all day, every meeting, every call, canceled. Because of her.
Wow! Eric, you really did this one.
He cussed Eric within him swearing he'll have him fired for even suggesting he'd bring Eva along with him.
It was no doubt the worse idea ever coming from Eric.
After the doctor left, he had assigned him with some responsibilities, minor tasks to monitor her temperature and keep her comfortable. He followed the instructions, placing a cool towel gently on her forehead and replacing it when needed. The kind of quiet care that didn't make sense to him. Why was he doing all this?
For an employee?
He couldn't believe himself.
When her fever finally broke, Damien was relieved. The drugs had done their job.
Later that evening, as night settled in and silence reclaimed the room, Damien called the hotel concierge to send up some women's clothes. He had noticed she still hadn't bought anything to wear. She'd been walking around in his shirt and the one outfit she arrived with, completely unaware, or perhaps unconcerned.
When the clothes arrived, he gently helped her into the bathroom. She took a warm bath while he waited, leaning on the wall, arms folded, processing everything she'd put him through.
Afterward, he helped her back to bed. He ordered food and encouraged her to eat. She only managed a few bites before sleep claimed her again. Damien finally had his own dinner, then made some overdue business calls.
It was close to midnight when he finally climbed into bed beside her, mentally and physically exhausted. He hadn't even pulled the sheets over them when he felt something soft shift beside him.
Eva.
Without warning, she rolled over and nestled herself into his arms, her face pressing gently against his bare chest. She exhaled deeply… and slept. Just like that.
Damien froze.
He looked down at the woman curled against him. Her messy bunny bun half undone, a few wisps of hair tickling his collarbone. Her breath fanned across his chest, warm, steady, intoxicating. Her cheek was impossibly soft against his skin. Her scent… something between soap and strawberry. It was doing things to him he didn't understand. Or maybe he did.
And when her body pressed against his, a perfect, warm, unconscious temptation, his entire frame tensed.
Then her breath on his skin felt a little itchy and tingly.
And her body lying on top of his felt like a temptation straight from hell it self, but before he scoffed against the whole idea he finds his body responding to her touch in a way that shocked him.
God help him. His muscles hardened, a bead of sweat forming at his temple. His trousers tightened with a swelling urgency he hadn't felt in years.
It took every shred of his discipline not to flip her over and devour her.
It was going to be a long, long night.
Turns out... Eva had the worst sleeping habits he had ever witnessed.
She twisted and turned like someone fighting imaginary dragons in her dreams. Then, without warning, she mumbled something about "sardines" and planted a sleepy kiss right over his nipple. He nearly leapt out of his skin.
At one point, she sat up half-asleep, eyes barely open, and whispered, "Where's my turtle?" Then collapsed right back onto his chest, drooling slightly.
Another time, she began humming. Humming something that sounds like a song. Some kind of lullaby that vibrated against his ribs like she was trying to sing him into madness.
And then, the final straw, she reached down in her sleep and grabbed his already painfully hard erection.
For a full five seconds.
Damien nearly had a stroke.
His heart thudded so hard in his chest he thought it might burst. He remained frozen, holding his breath like a man lying in a minefield. She rolled away right after, nearly falling off the bed, only to crawl back moments later and wrap herself around him like a starfish on a sinking ship.
This time, she whacked him in the face with her arm, snorted, then murmured, "Don't let the koalas in..." before clinging to him tighter.
She became a human octopus.
One leg wrapped around his thigh. One arm across his stomach. Her fingers gently tugged at his earlobe like a toddler clinging to her favorite plushie.
Then she drooled on his chest.
And finally, finally, slipped into deep, unconscious peace.
Damien stared at the ceiling in stunned, tortured silence.
She had shown him hell. Pure, slow-burning, sensual hell.
Every time he shifted away, her unconscious instincts sniffed him out like a heat-seeking missile and dragged him back. Again. And again. And again.
At 3:17 a.m., he tried moving to the other side of the bed. She rolled over, flung her arm across his chest, and whispered, "You smell like cinnamon." He did not smell like cinnamon.
At 4:42 a.m., she stuck her cold foot between his thighs. Then she tried chewing on his ear and Damien subconsciously slaps her head away, and she suddenly lay back on his chest, quite until her body starts vibrating on his body, she started crying.
And Damien facepalmed himself.
He had to pats her back to calm her back to sleep.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, it reminded him of Tyler, the night she had slept at his house when she was sick. She'd mumbled and cried in her sleep too, her body restless beneath the covers. At the time, he'd assumed it was the weight of whatever she was going through.
But Eva's sleeping habits? They were on a whole different level.
At 5:00 a.m. sharp, she punched him in the side and said, in a voice eerily calm, "You forgot my noodles."
He was too exhausted to question it anymore.
So he gave up.
And lay there, erect, sleepless, stunned, and absolutely celibate, until the sun poured in through the curtains like an undeserved spotlight on his suffering.
By morning, Damien swore he had aged ten years.
But then...
She stirred again.
She stretched, still tangled around him, and made a soft, satisfied sound. Her lips brushed against his skin as she yawned into his chest.
And Damien realized something he was almost too proud to admit:
He didn't hate it.
Not one bit.