I crack one eye open cautiously, like I’m afraid too much movement will make the illusion disappear. But Travis is in bed next to me. His dark hair is mussed up, his glasses are on the nightstand, and there’s a pillow crease across his left cheek.
The morning light catches the stubble on his jaw, and I have to physically restrain myself from making an undignified squeaking sound of pure joy.
This actually happened. He’s actually here. I actually get to keep this.
He’s just stirring, making these small grumpy noises like a disgruntled cat, his face scrunching up against the invasion of morning light.
Sleep-ruffled Travis is so adorable that I can’t help straddling him, placing a kiss on his nose.
“Hi,” I say.
“Let me guess, you’re one of those people who wakes up instantly and is full of energy,” he groans, putting a hand over his eyes.
“Yep, that’s me.” I plant a gentle kiss on his lips this time. “And I’m guessing you’re someone who struggles to be remotely coherent and is grumpy until they get caffeine into their bloodstream.”
I give another teasing kiss, then withdraw.
He opens his eyes to blink at me. Then he surges up to capture my mouth, and we’re kissing properly, morning-slow and thorough, like we have all the time in the world. He tastes like sleep and possibility, and his hands come up to cradle my face gently.
“I can wake up fast for the right incentives,” he says when he finally pulls back.
“Good to know.”
I grind my morning erection against his, and we both groan at the friction, already getting lost in each other again.
We break apart just long enough for me to duck into the bathroom. When I come back, Travis has kicked off the sheets entirely and is watching me with dark eyes and a condom packet in his hand.
“Efficient,” I say, climbing back onto the bed.
“I’m an engineer. We plan ahead.”
We’re slower and more deliberate than last night. It’s a question-and-answer session between our bodies, discovering all the places that make each other gasp and sigh.
There’s stroking and tenderness and the discovery of Travis’s beautiful broken moan when I suck a mark into his collarbone,and that he whispers my name like it’s the only word he remembers.
It’s moving together in the morning light, unhurried and unguarded, writing promises on each other’s skin with fingertips and mouths.
Travis opens me slowly, savoring each gasp, each shiver, until we’re both trembling with want.
Then I’m on top of him, sinking down onto him, feeling the stretch as he fills me inch by inch. We both hold our breath, eyes locked, suspended in this moment.
His hands grip my hips and his eyes are so soft it almost hurts to look at him.
When I’m fully seated, he reaches up to brush hair from my forehead with trembling fingers, and something in my chest cracks wide open.
And then I begin to move.
I’ve had sex before. But I’ve never had sex where every single nerve ending feels like it’s been rewired to amplify the sensations. Where the slide of skin against skin feels like a conversation I’ve been waiting my whole life to have.
It’s intertwined fingers and soft kisses, like we’re sharing secrets in a language only we understand. He strokes me as I set the pace, and the dual sensation narrows my entire existence down to him, to us, to this.
His hands slide up my thighs, gripping my hips as I settle into a rhythm that makes us both gasp.
I brace my hands on his chest. His heart slams against my palm.
The pleasure builds in slow, rolling waves. Every time I sink down, sparks shoot up my spine. His thumb finds my hip bone, stroking circles, and somehow that small touch undoes me more than anything else.
“God, you’re perfect,” Travis says, voice rough.
