18
Ronan
The morning after my little outing, I woke up with Wes’s strong arms hugging me back to his chest, and his breath warming the back of my neck. One of his legs was hooked loosely over mine, boxing me in without actually trapping me.
A small, private smile tugged at my mouth as I settled back into him, letting my hand drift over where his rested against my stomach, threading our fingers together.
Normal.
That’s what this was supposed to be.
It was what he wanted, what I wastryingto give him.
“Mornin’, doll,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I replied quietly, turning my head just enough for him to press a lazy kiss to my shoulder.
“You sleep okay?” he asked, tightening his hold slightly.
I hummed, “Yeah. You?”
“Like a rock,” he said. “Didn’t even wake up once.”
I smiled faintly at that, letting my eyes close for a brief second. “Same,” I murmured.
He nuzzled into my hair, breathing me in like he always did, and for a moment, I worried if he could smell anything different on me.
Like the lingering trace of something I’d washed away as best I could.
But he didn’t pull back, didn’t ask any questions, and just held me closer, soothing my mind.
“Well,” he said after a minute, voice lighter now, “let’s get up. I want to beat the breakfast crowd.”
“Mm. Can’t we just order room service?” I muttered, tired from my outing.
He huffed a quiet laugh, squeezing me once before finally letting go. “Nope.”
The morning unfolded easily after that, starting with a hot shower and clean clothes.
Breakfast was amazing, and eaten by a window that overlooked endless white and falling snow. Wes talked about plans for the day, and I listened, chiming in where it mattered, but letting him steer.
Now that I’d taken care of that pesky urge, I could focus on enjoying everything Wes wanted to do on this trip.
I would be a normal person on a normal vacation.
That lasted four days.
Four really good days.
We’d gone back to the spa after I handled our first visit well, and I had to admit it was nice having someone work the tension out of my muscles. The treatment room was the kind of environment that should’ve made my skin crawl, but it didn’t. Not with him right there beside me, occasionally reaching over just to touch, to remind me he was there.
Then this afternoon, we went skating on the frozen lake at the center of the resort, and later participated in a baking class for couples before having a delicious dinner at one of the on-site restaurants.
It’d been a perfect day.
And yet, by the time we got back to the suite that night, the itch had started again.
I tried to ignore it at first—changed into something comfortable, curled up on the couch with him, and let the fire warm my skin while he talked about something I only half-listened to.
