The high pitched beeping grows louder until I realize it's an alarm clock. Odd. It sounds different than usual.
There's a muffled groan, and a weight beside me shifts before the alarm is silenced. Only then do I realize that it's not mine. My eyes shoot open and I panic for a second before I remember where I am.
I move to sit up and suddenly remember, too, that I'm naked.
"Jesus, didn't know you were awake." Brock rubs his face, dropping his head back onto the pillow. "It's my pre-alarm alarm, you don't have to worry about it."
What the heck is a pre-alarm alarm?
"I should go." I glance at the clock. 5 AM.
"I'll drive you. Just go back to sleep." He yawns.
"I can take a cab." I protest, watching as he closes his eyes like it's a done deal.
"Home. I'll drive you home. You can take a cab to the office if you're ashamed, you damn rookie. Just let me sleep." He grumbles.
"Fine." I give in to his sleep-obsessed demands and lie down again.
Problem is, I'm too awake to go back to sleep now.
Instead, I watch the slow rise and fall of his chest for a while. His jet black hair is a ruffled mess, and I vividly remember the sensation of running my hands through it as we made love under these sheets last night. Last night. Last night, this man was moaning my name. If that's not enough to boost a girl's confidence, I don't know what is.
I trace the outlines of his chest muscles with my fingertips. The scars, the well-defined abs, the faint trail of hair descending ever lower…
He grabs my hand and calmly lifts it away from his skin.
"I said let me sleep, damn it." He growls faintly.
I give a soft laugh and his brow furrows, his eyes opening wearily. His nostrils flare slightly before a wicked smile crosses his face.
He pushes me onto my back and climbs over me, straddling me with those strong thighs, his hands clasping mine against the bed.
"I'm sorry." I look up at him through my lashes, trying hard to stifle my smile.
"Like hell you are. You want to go again, punk?" He leans in for a kiss, and is interrupted by the sound of his phone vibrating on the bedside table.
My smile widens as I catch the instant irritation that flickers through his eyes.
The phone keeps vibrating, but he makes no move to get it.
"Aren't you going to get that?"
"I said no interruptions, didn't I?" Despite the confident tone in his voice, he looks really undecided about letting the phone go unanswered. I enjoy watching his internal struggle.
He casts me a grudging glance before finally climbing off of me to answer the phone.
I get out of bed and pick my clothes up from the floor where they'd been hurriedly discarded last night.
He's talking at a low volume, running a hand through his hair. Mentions something about "project insight", whatever that is. By the time he's done, my clothes are on and I'm sitting on the edge of the bed.
"You don't want to take a shower?" He looks at me over his shoulder, and I'm drawn to the way his shoulder blades are accentuated by the action. The words are more of an invitation than a question, and I have to resist the urge to say yes.
"Nah, I'll take one at my place so I can change."
"Alright. Give me twenty minutes." He suppresses a yawn as he gets up and heads to the bathroom.
I leave the bedroom and enter the living room, planting myself on the sofa as I try not to dwell too long on the image of his naked body in my mind. When that fails, I turn on the TV to distract myself.
As I'm watching the morning news, I hear my phone ringing in my bag. It's still ringing when I eventually find it, but I don't recognize the number on the screen. Probably a telemarketer?
I wait for the rings to die, but they don't.
Finally, I give in and answer.
"Elise? You okay?" Michael's voice is loud and concerned, "Your car was in the garage when I got to work. Is everything alright? Have you been kidnapped?"
Well, damn. This couldn't get more awkward, could it?
"I'm fine, Michael. You don't need to worry." I sigh into the phone, turning off the TV.
"Good lord, I thought they'd finally got you."
Why does he sound so relieved?
"Who got me?" I ask cautiously.
"You know…" He pauses, lowering his voice, "them."
"Are you okay? You're starting to sound like a tinfoil-hat fanatic." My brows furrow in concern. Michael is losing it.
"Oh for the love of God, I'm fine. Sorry for being worried about a colleague's whereabouts when they don't drive their own car home at the end of the day. To think Nikolav told me to take care of you. I should have told him it's a damn bother." Michael's back to his usual irritated self, and a little bit of relief washes over me before the guilt settles in.
"I'm sorry, okay? Thank you for worrying about me. I'm safe and sound, and I'll be at work like normal." I can't help but smile despite how annoyed he is with me.
At the sound of footsteps I look up to see Rumlow standing in the hall outside the living room, drying his wet hair with a towel. He's back to his work uniform, and somehow it doesn't feel that weird to see him in this look again after having slept with him. Verbalizing it in my mind makes it weird, though, so I'm going to stop doing that.
Michael is silent on the end of the line, which means he's apparently grudgingly accepted my apology.
"I've got to go, alright? Nice talking to you. Bye now." I hang up as casually as I can, not allowing him the chance to get any more words in. Somehow I feel like Rumlow would be all too interested in knowing why Michael had called me.
Thankfully, he doesn't ask anything.
"Let's go." He gestures vaguely towards the door with his head, and I turn the TV off as I stand, picking up my bag.
"Yeah."