I watched his hands and thought about them on my body.
Neither of us mentioned it.
Now we're here.
Side by side in the darkness.
Close enough to touch but not touching.
It's torture.
It's perfect.
"You're not sleeping," he murmurs.
"Neither are you."
"Hard to sleep when you're this close."
I turn my head on the pillow.
He's lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, his profile sharp in the dim light filtering through the window well.
His jaw is clenched.
His hands are fisted at his sides, like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for me.
"Is the mattress better?"
"Much." There's genuine relief in his voice. "I'd forgotten what a real mattress feels like."
"Then you should sleep. Actually sleep. Not that two-hour bullshit you've been doing."
He huffs something that might be a laugh. "Bossy."
"You like it."
"Aye," he admits quietly. "I do."
Silence settles between us.
"RJ?"
"Hmm?"
"What happens now?"
It's the question I've been afraid to ask.
The one that's been lurking beneath every kiss, every touch, every heated look.
What does this mean?
Where do we go from here?
Are we just two people giving in to attraction, or is this something more?
He's quiet for a long moment.
