Not just the sex—though God knows that was incredible—but this. The morning after. Waking up with her in my arms, knowing she's mine and I'm hers, and nothing about it is fake or temporary or pretend.
This is real.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in, and let myself just feel it. The weight of her against me. The steady rhythm of her breathing. The absolute certainty that I never want to wake up any other way.
She stirs, making a soft noise, and I know the exact moment she wakes up. Her body tenses, then relaxes as memory floods back.
"Morning," I say.
She tilts her head up, eyes still heavy with sleep, and the smile that crosses her face is worth every second I waited for her.
"Good morning, boyfriend," she says, her voice rough and beautiful.
My heart does something complicated in my chest. "Good morning, girlfriend."
She stretches against me like a cat, and I'm very aware that we're both still naked under these sheets. Her hand slides up my chest, and she leans in to press a kiss to my jaw.
"How'd you sleep?" she asks.
"Best I've slept in months," I admit. "You?"
"Same." She kisses me again, this time on the mouth, sweet and perfect. "I could get used to this."
"Good," I say, rolling her onto her back so I can look at her properly. "Because I plan on making this a permanent arrangement."
She laughs, reaching up to cup my face. "Permanent, huh?"
"As permanent as you'll let me be."
Her expression softens. "I love you."
"I love you too, sweetheart." I kiss her forehead, her nose, her mouth. "Now, how about I make you coffee?"
"You're going to spoil me."
"That's the plan."
Twenty minutes later, we're in her tiny kitchen. I'm wearing my jeans from yesterday, and Steph's in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, her hair pulled into a messy knot. The coffee maker is gurgling, and I'm leaning against the counter watching her add an obscene amount of sugar to her mug.
This. I want this every morning for the rest of my life.
The thought doesn't scare me. It settles into my chest as if it's always been there, just waiting for me to acknowledge it.
"What?" Steph asks, catching me staring.
"Nothing," I say, pulling her against me. "Just thinking about how much I—"
My phone rings, cutting me off.
The chief's name lights up the screen, and my entire body goes on alert. I glance at Steph, who's already tensing.
"Dawes," I answer, putting it on speaker.
"Kevin, it's Chief. Got some news for you." There's satisfaction in his voice, and I feel the first flicker of hope. "We've got Elliott in custody. Thought you'd want to know."
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost buckle. Steph's hand finds mine, squeezing tight.
"What happened?" I ask.
