“What?”
He answers by gently tugging on my elbow.
My body responds without my permission, reclining back on the bed until he’s spooning me, him under the covers, me on top of them.
His arm draped around my stomach.
Not touching my breasts.
Not touching between my legs.
Just resting.
Holding me.
His penis is half hard against my back, but not all the way.
That is definitelynotall the way hard.
He sticks his nose in my hair and breathes, a slow, steady pattern of deep breath in, deeper breath out.
Deep breath in, deeper breath out.
Slow, deep, in. Slower, deeper, out.
My shoulders relax as I listen to him.
Then my heart.
My eyelids.
This, my heart whispers again.
This is what love is supposed to look like.
I tell it to shut up.
I think.
My brain is getting heavy.
So are my limbs.
Because I’m safe.
I’m safe with someone who cares. Even if he doesn’t care, he’s doing a damn good job of making me feel like he cares.
And for tonight, that’s all I want.
33
Davis
Sleepingnext to Sloane all night—or not sleeping next to her while she slept—is torture.
I want to kiss her.
I want to lick every square inch of her body.
