Well, he didn’t see hell.
But he sure slept like the dead.
When he first woke, Nora was against him, not far from the spot she’d been in when she’d fallen asleep. Then, she’d tucked herself against his side, her head growing heavier against his shoulder and chest as she’d drifted off, the small muscles in her hands and feet occasionally twitching out whatever tension they’d held over the course of the day. Now, she’d shifted enough so that her head rested on his stomach, the smooth, straight strands of her hair draped across his bare chest, and without thinking he lifted a hand to them, stroking sleepily, barely conscious.
It wasn’t so unusual for Will to sleep hard, not after years of chaotic hospital schedules, long stretches of time where he wasn’t simply awake but alsourgentlyawake, dealing-with-something-serious awake. A blank, consuming sleep after that wasn’t so much a pleasure as it was a necessity, his body simply giving out on him and going pitch dark with fatigue. But this waking up . . .thiswas different. Hesitant, when it almost always felt like he sat straight up; fuzzy, when he nearly always had the day’s schedule clear in his head. His eyes stayed closed and his mind stayed slow, not working through much of anything other than the soft tangles he found in Nora’s hair.
In fact it might have been that he . . . drifted off again? That seemed almost unreal, impossible, but the next thing he was aware of was Nora stirring against him, her soft cheek moving across his abdomen, her lips pressing into his skin before she half settled again, making a sleepy, frustrated noise.
“What time?” she mumbled, and he kept his eyes closed, still dozing, his lips curving.
“Dunno,” he said, or maybe just thought.
After a second her arm reached across him, her head coming up and her hair tickling across his skin. Well, one part of him was awake, at least. Nora slapped at the nightstand where she’d plugged in her phone last night, part of a routine—their one-after-the-other trips to the bathroom, their teasing arguments about which side of the bed he’d sleep on—that had felt, despite the first-time circumstances of it all, strangely normal.
When she lit up the screen he threw an arm over his eyes but then changed his mind when he realized he was missing an opportunity. He squinted one eye open, then the second, Nora’s profile lit in white-blue light, her face scrunched and sleepy and still goddamned sexy. He moved his hand, traced a finger along her spine.
“Four fifty-seven,” she said, setting the phone back down with a clatter before dropping her forehead to his skin. “Late.”
“No,” he protested lazily, stroking outward from her spine, running his fingertips up her side, over the curve formed by the side of her breast. “Early. Not even morning, really.”
She made a funny, disbelieving half snort but then shuddered when he stroked her again. Pretty much it was only his hands and his dick that were fully online, but he could work with that.Shecould work with that, if she’d only—
“Let me—” She broke off when he got his finger close to her nipple, then sighed, dropping her head to kiss his stomach again. “Let me run to the bathroom first.”
He laughed softly in satisfaction, knowing he had her, and when she slapped playfully at his chest as she climbed out of bed he caught her hand, pressing a kiss in the center of her palm. When she started to walk away he did a small, simple thing, a thing the sleepy part of his brain told him was most natural: he held on to her loosely, a move that was less about keeping her than it was about touching her right up until the last possible second, and she laughed, squeezing his fingers back before letting them trail lightly away from his.
But when she let go, he realized why it seemed so natural.
Where he’d seen it before.
That was what his dad used to do.
Every time his mom left the dinner table, or her spot beside him on the couch. Every time they were out, and she’d walk away from him, only ever for a minute or two. Even when he was sick, his most sick—in bed, in the hospital—he did it. Any time she left his side.
Oh, he was awake now.
He pushed himself up when Nora left the room, then blinked at the brightness cast his way when she flicked on the bathroom light. But as he heard the door creak shut, he was slowly sent into darkness again, a catch in his breath as he tried to shake off that brief, ill-timed trip to his own personal underworld. Waking up this way, that had been a mistake.
With Nora, he had to be more careful.
He swallowed, rubbing a hand across his chest and then reaching for his own phone beside Nora’s.4:59, not that he needed to check again, but this time, with his brain back in the game, he could remember the practicalities. Last night, what they’d agreed to was sex; what they’d agreed on was that they were good together—for this, and in secret. But this morning, he had to remember: it would cause trouble for Nora, him being here too late. It would cause trouble for him, too—for the apartment down below, for the business he was basically running out of a place everyone else here called home.
For his heart.
Right, yeah—should he get up? No, that would be a coward’s way out, getting up and getting himself dressed when he’d all but told her to come back to him. The least he could do was wait, and anyway, he ought to let this erection settle down before he even attempted pants. He rubbed his palms down his thighs, attempting some semblance of focus: later today he had a shift at the clinic; tomorrow he should probably deal with bills. The tenant that was coming on Tuesday, did he owe her an email? He ought to—
He heard the bathroom door opening, light sneaking into the room again, and he suddenly felt more sheepish than he might’ve if she’d found him already dressed. It was probably weirder to be sitting up like this, halfway to going, but not really committing to it.
“So,” she said, a smile in her voice as she came into the room. “Nowyou think it’s morning.”
She came to stand in front of him, and when he raised his head, she surprised him, gently settling his glasses on his face. He swallowed, looking her over—a long, silky robe tied loosely at her waist, sheer where the soft light hit it. Nothing about him was settling down now.
“No,” he lied, reaching out to catch at the delicate tie at her waist. Safe to hold on to that, at least.
“I’m sorry to say, I really think you’ll have to go now,” she teased, and he groaned, dropping his head to rest against her stomach. “What if Marian has her checkpoint set up?”
He laughed miserably. Heshouldgo. He knew he should; he’ddecided. But for long seconds, he rested like that in silence, utterly stymied. He couldn’t stay this morning; he knew all the reasons he had to be careful. But he didn’t want last night’s first to be the last, not yet.
