She’s still breathless, her body loose and languid beneath me, boneless in the sweetest way—wrecked and radiant all at once.
And all I can think is: I’ve never wanted anything more than this. Than her.
We don’t go all the way—not yet. But it doesn’t matter. Because the way she falls asleep in my arms afterward, wrapped up in my chest like she finally knows she’s safe.
That 's everything.
And I know in my bones—she’s mine. Not in a possessive way. But in the way that home can only ever be one person. Ava. Always.
***
The morning light creeps in slowly, golden and gentle through the curtains, like it knows better than to rush this morning.
She’s still wrapped around me.
Ava’s head rests against my chest, one arm slung across my stomach, her legs tangled with mine beneath the blankets. Her breathing is steady, peaceful. Like she finally slept without the weight of the world pressing on her.
God, I could stay like this forever.
I don’t move. Not even an inch. I just hold her there, soaking in the warmth of her body against mine, the way she fits so perfectly. Her hair’s a mess, but beautiful. Her cheeks slightly flushed from sleep. And even though last night didn’t end in sex, it still feels more intimate than anything I’ve ever known.
She stirs after a while, making a small sleepy sound before her eyes flutter open. She blinks up at me, a little dazed, and it’s honestly the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hi,” she says, voice raspy and soft.
“Morning baby,” I smile down at her, brushing her hair back. “Sleep okay?”
She nods against my chest. “Better than I have in… I don’t even know.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Good.”
For a few moments, we stay like that—quiet and warm, with the morning pressing in soft around us. Then she shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me.
“You’re really here,” she murmurs, more to herself than me.
“I told you,” I say gently, reaching up to trace her jaw with my thumb. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She chews her bottom lip, eyes flicking over my face like she’s memorizing me all over again.
“I’m still scared,” she whispers.
“I know,” I reply. “And that’s okay.”
She exhales slowly, like she’s been holding that fear in her chest for years. Then she leans in and kisses me—slow, sweet and sure.
When she pulls back, I grin. “Was that your way of asking for coffee?”
She groans, dropping her head to my shoulder. “You’re such a menace in the mornings.”
“Only for you.”
She laughs, and it’s the best damn sound in the world. Light, free.
“I’ll make the coffee,” I offer.
“You cooking too?”
I raise a brow. “You want pancakes or an apology omelet for all the chaos I bring into your life?”
