A sleepy murmur of discontent escaped Ben Osborne as a draft of cool air touched his skin, and he curled his body tighter under the thick comforter. Feeling the mattress dip beside him, Ben sighed.
“Woodstock, if you drool on my pillow again, I will kick your furry ass, you hear?”
When his dog didn’t so much as whine a protest, Ben chose to take that as a binding agreement, and snuggled down further into the warm bed.
The fog of sleep was starting to pull him back under when the bed moved again and another wisp of chill, early morning air slipped under the comforter.
“Woodstock, quit fidgeting or you can go back to your own be -- ah!” Ben’s eyes popped open when a hand that absolutely did not belong to Woodstock, or any other dog, slid along his bare thigh and cupped his cock through the thin cotton of his boxers.
“What the fuck?” Ben whipped aside the comforter with one hand, while the other hand scrabbled blindly for the lamp switch by the bed. When the light clicked on he blinked rapidly, head swimming in that way it did when he jumped up out of bed too quickly. But he was still in bed, and he wasn’t alone. “Aiden?”
Stretched out on the other side of the bed, gloriously naked, his head resting on his fist and a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth, Aiden Kane looked up at Ben from moss green eyes framed by ridiculously thick lashes.
“You would have preferred Woodstock?” Aiden arched an eyebrow in question, but there was a confidence in his eyes that told Ben the man knew he was far from disappointed.
Of their own accord, Ben’s eyes drifted over Aiden’s long, hard body, the last vestiges of sleep floating away to be replaced by fierce want, as his body began to respond to the vision laid out before him.
“I would prefer not to have a heart attack in my own bed.” Ben’s voice was thick and rough with arousal, and Aiden’s smile deepened.