Chapter 62 Chapter Sixty-Two
Vanessa POV
Danny's hands were everywhere.
On my waist, sliding under my shirt. Tangling in my hair. Gripping my thigh as he hitched my leg over his hip. His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw to that sensitive spot just below my ear that made me gasp his name.
"God, Nessa," he murmured against my skin, his voice rough with desire.
"You're so beautiful."
We were in my bed–I didn't remember how we got there and frankly I didn't care.
Danny was finally, finally doing more than just kissing me. His hand slid down my stomach, fingers playing with the waistband of my underwear, teasing me gently.
"Please," I breathed, arching into his touch.
He smiled against my neck, a dangerous smile that made my stomach flip, as his hand slipped beneath the fabric. His fingers found exactly where I needed him, and I couldn't stop the moan that escaped my lips.
"That's it," Danny said, his voice low and commanding in a way that made the liquid heat pool even lower.
"Let me hear you." he called out.
His fingers moved with perfect pressure, perfect rhythm, building something hot and desperate inside me. I reached for him, wanting to touch him too, wanting to make him feel as good as he was making me feel.
But he caught my wrist gently, pinning it above my head.
"Not yet. This is about you."
I was so close, so impossibly close with the tension building and building until I thought I might shatter from it. Just a little more, just a few more seconds—
And then he pulled away.
"Danny?" I called out, confused and desperate.
"Don't stop. Please don't—"
But he was disappearing, fading like smoke, and I reached for him but my hands found nothing but empty air.
"Danny!"
I jolted awake, my heart pounding, my body hot and sweaty and aching with unfulfilled need.
It was a dream.
Of course it was a dream because apparently even in my subconscious, the universe was conspiring to keep me and Danny Glover from actually finishing what we started.
"Are you kidding me?" I said out loud to my empty bedroom, my voice hoarse and frustrated.
I collapsed back against my pillows, breathing hard, staring at my ceiling in disbelief.
My body was still thrumming with arousal, my skin too sensitive, every nerve ending on fire. The dream had felt so real—I could still feel the phantom sensation of Danny's hands on me, I could still hear the low rumble of his voice in my ear.
But it wasn't real, none of it was real. It was just my sexually frustrated brain torturing me with scenarios that apparently couldn't come to completion even in my own dreams.
My alarm chose that moment to go off, the cheerful chime an absolute insult given my current state.
I grabbed my phone and silenced it with more force than necessary, glaring at the screen like it had personally offended me.
6:30 AM. Thursday morning. I had Dr. Han's office hours at nine, which meant I needed to get up, shower, and pretend I was a functioning human being instead of a walking bundle of sexual frustration.
But first, I needed a minute to just lie here and contemplate the absolute unfairness of my life.
It had been a day since my date with Danny, it felt like four–four days since he'd had to leave because of the Ryan emergency, four days of building tension with no relief.
We'd texted constantly—good morning messages, updates about our day, sweet little "thinking about you" texts that made me smile despite my frustration.
We'd even FaceTimed twice, though I'd made sure to keep those calls short because seeing his face just made me want him more.
But we hadn't seen each other in person. Danny had been swamped with extra practices, getting Ryan up to speed before tomorrow's championship qualifier. I'd been buried in dissertation work, trying to finish another chapter before Dr. Han's deadline.
I groaned and pulled a pillow over my face.
My phone buzzed with a text, and I grabbed it, desperate for distraction.
It was Danny.
Good morning, beautiful. Thinking about you.
I stared at the message, at the little heart emoji he'd added at the end, and felt my frustration war with affection. He had no idea what he was doing to me or that I'd just had an incredibly vivid dream about him that had ended in the most unsatisfying way possible.
In the morning, I typed back. How's Ryan doing?
Good. Kid's a fast learner.
Nervous? I asked.
Yeah. Danny admitted.
But also excited, we've worked so hard for this.
You're going to do great.
Thank you. That means everything.
There was a pause, and then another text came through.
I miss you. Haven't seen you in hours and it's killing me.
My heart squeezed, and I typed back without thinking.
Miss you too. So much.
Our date is tonight. Are you ready?
Danny sent.
I bit my lip, remembering what he'd said that morning about doing this right.
Yes, I replied. Definitely yes.
Good. I'm counting down the hours.
Me too.
Gotta go—Coach is glaring at me. But Nessa?
Yeah?
Tomorrow night. I promise.
The message made my stomach flip with anticipation and nerves.
Promise, I agreed.
After he signed off, I lay there for another minute, phone clutched to my chest, trying to get my body to calm down.
Tomorrow night.
We'd have our date and I would make sure he didn't escape this time.
Some part of my brain huffed at me, didn't you promise to take it slow.
I collapsed on the bed unwilling to think about that awful truth. My phone buzzed again, and I looked at it expecting another message from Danny.
It was Bean.
Bean: Hey, I won't make it back till tomorrow.
I looked at the text and felt embarrassed, I'd forgotten she was supposed to come back late last night.
Me: I'll see you then.
I replied simply, I set my phone face-down on my nightstand and forced myself to get out of bed.
A cold shower. I needed a very, very cold shower.
Forty-five minutes later, I was showered, dressed in jeans and a sweater, and staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I grabbed my laptop bag and the folder with my latest dissertation chapter, checking my phone one more time before heading out.
Another message from Danny
Danny: I can't wait to be with you.
I clutched my phone to my chest, a smile spreading across my face despite the cold wind and my lingering frustration.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow night, finally, we'd have our time.
I just had to survive sexual combustion.
How hard could that be?