“Knowing that we’ve both felt this way the whole time?”
“Yes, and knowing that we both knew it was wiser not to.”
“And yet here we are,” he says.
“We are.”
“I’m really happy we are.”
“Me too,” she says. “This is weird, right, that we can talk about it like this?”
“Weird, maybe, but I’m not surprised.”
“No?”
“Nah, you and me? We’re two sides of the same coin. Makes sense that we feel comfortable pushing past the awkwardness.”
“I don’t feel awkward,” she insists.
“What do you feel?”
“I feel safe, here with you.”
“You are,” he assures her.
“And I feel wanted.”
“You are.”
“And . . .”
“What?”
Loved.
She shakes her head, then lets it rest against his chest, up against his heart. He doesn’t push for an answer, just wraps his arms around her tightly. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t haveto. He heard it anyway. It’s there between them, unspoken, but present.
It should hurt. Itdoeshurt, more than anything he’s ever felt before, but there’s something else. There’s a peace there too, because he loves her and they have tonight. So for now they can rest in each other’s arms. And no matter how much he wants it to be different, that has to be enough.
They barely move in their sleep and wake up in nearly the same position they drifted off in. The only difference is his hand found purchase against the rounded rise of her ass that he wished he’d spent more time exploring the night before. He’s half awake, completely aroused and happily trapped by the weight of her body.
He could move, could try to inch away from her and leave her sleeping peacefully, but . . . he doesn’t want to. This is . . . this is good, despite the pins and needles in his arm where she’d pillowed her head for the last however many hours, and the way her hair is tickling his skin and is . . . somehow in his mouth and nose and . . . everywhere. Her legs are twined with his, her feet tiny ice blocks against his calves.
Who cares though? Now that he knows the feel of her against him, the way her body shakes under his hands and his mouth, the way his name sounds on her tongue when she’s crying out in pleasure, he’d happily wake up every day not being able to feel his arm, suffocated by her hair and his legs freezing. Absolutely worth it.
Bianca stretches against him and he lets out a groan followed by a sharp hiss as her hips collide gently with his. It wasn’t painful, exactly, more excruciatingly perfect.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, as she shifts her hips away from him. She rolls over onto her side of the mattress, pressing a hand against her face before blinking at him sleepily. There’s some golden light shining through the curtains drawn in front ofthe windows, casting muted shadows over her, golden skin and frizzy curls and half-lidded eyes . . . bedroom eyes.
Yeah, he wants to wake up like this every damn day.
“How do you look so good in the morning?” he rasps, the words unbidden, and he screws his eyes shut, the only punishment he can enact on his runaway mouth.
Bianca lets out a soft laugh. “I look like shit in the morning.”
“You look like a goddess.”
“Your eyes aren’t even open.”
