My lips curl up, and I’m struck with the sudden urge to get out my sketchbook and draw him. I want to remember how he looks when he’s fully at peace. Somehow, though, I get the feeling he wouldn't appreciate waking up to find me staring at him with a pencil in hand.
Instead I open my suitcase and slip into my pajamas. I slide open the terrace door, letting in the cool night air. In the distance, I can hear the crashing of the sea waves. Once I’ve turned off the lights, I crawl into bed beside James. Within minutes, I drift off to sleep with his warmth at my back, surrounded by the quiet sound of the sea.
31
JAMES
Astrange tickling feeling jolts me out of sleep. My eyes snap open, and my brain whirls as I realize I'm not in my bed. It takes me another moment to put the pieces together. A warm breeze, drifting through a thin white curtain. A mattress that’s softer than my own. Soft auburn hair, tickling my nose and arm.
I'm in Greece, and my wife is curled up against me in my bed.
I must've been so exhausted, I drifted off before my usual nighttime routine. Normally, I don't have quite so much difficulty adjusting to a new place when I travel. Work takes me across the globe, and I’ve never woken up confused about where I am.
No, it must be the sensation of sharing a bed with another person. As a rule, I don't have women sleep over. Before this, the last person I shared a bed with was Ryan, when an impromptu trip to Las Vegas with the boys forced us to bunk in a single hotel room. Ryan and I got off lucky in the rock-paper-scissors tournament for sleeping locations. Beau and Nate got stuck on a rickety pull-out couch, while poor Luke was stuck curled up on a pile of towels on the floor.
Maura is a much more pleasant bed partner than Ryan. She smells better, for one. The faint scent of her jasmine perfume makes me want to bury my face in her neck. She also doesn’t hog the bed like Ryan. Maura lies flat on her back, one hand laid gently against her pillow.
No, I’m the one who invadedherspace. Sometime in the night, I rolled over and wrapped my arm around her waist, snuggling my face against her hair. It puts me in a good position to gaze down at her. In sleep, her face is more relaxed than I’ve ever seen it, her brow smooth, her full lips parted gently. I wouldn’t call Maura a tense person, but seeing her now, it’s clear there’s some heaviness she carries with her in her waking hours. I wonder what it is, and if she’d tell me if I asked her.
I don’t know how long I spend gazing at her before her eyes flutter open. Her caramel eyes meet mine, and they crinkle at the edges in amusement.
“Good morning,” she says sleepily. “How long have you been staring at me?”
I nuzzle against her neck, giving into the urge to inhale her perfume. “Since about midnight.”
She giggles. “Keeping watch in case I attacked?”
“Of course. I know how dangerous you are.” I press little kisses against her soft skin, relishing in her sigh.
“I'm not dangerous enough to keep you from hogging in the bed,” she teases. “You didn’t have enough space on your side?”
“I'm a tall man. I need my space. In fact, I might have taken the whole bed if it wasn't for you drooling on your pillow.”
She smacks my arm playfully. “I do not! I can’t believe you’re spreading these lies before you’ve even said good morning.”
I close the space between us, pressing my lips to hers and lazily tasting her. It feels beyond decadent to have her like this, first thing in the morning, before checking my email or going to the gym or doing any other work tasks. Instead, I get to feel mywife’s soft, hot mouth under mine, her gentle fingers weaving into my hair.
I pull away just long enough to murmur, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Maura replies breathlessly, just before she yanks me back down to kiss me again. Her tongue strokes mine hungrily, and her hands tear at the buttons of the dress shirt I fell asleep in. After I shrug it off, her urgency vanishes as her hands trace my chest.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispers. “Like a statue.”
The strange compliment sends a shiver of pleasure through me. She’s looking at me through her artist’s eyes, and it feels more than someone just admiring my looks. She runs her fingers over the lines of my muscles like she wishes she’d drawn them.
I bring one of those hands to my mouth, kissing over her knuckles. I take the tip of one slender finger into my mouth and suck gently.
“Not half as beautiful as you,” I mutter. “God, Maura, you have the softest fucking skin.”
The breeze wafts through the curtain, drawing goosebumps on Maura’s skin as I brush my lips up her inner arm. Her hips squirm toward nothing as I map the inner line of her arm with my lips and tongue. When I reach her pajama sleeve, I move back up to her neck. She throws her head back for me, an inherent gesture of trust. I growl my approval as my hands track downward over her torso.
“Open for me, wife,” I murmur, pressing my hand against her closed thighs.
Maura obeys, spreading her legs for my exploring fingers. She gazes up at me through lust-addled eyes, like one simple order from me was enough to make her desperate. She lifts her hips to help me pull off her shorts and panties, and I groan when I find her dripping.
“Already so wet for me,” I mutter. My fingers trace over every inch and spread her wetness all over her. Her hips grind against my hand, telling me how much she likes it. Every little sigh and whimper she lets out makes my heart thud a little faster.
“Do you ever dream about this, Maura?” I whisper. “My hand on your cunt, making you come?”
