What has this man done to me? I had two relationships, and mediocre as they were in hindsight, I can’t remember ever feeling this all-consuming need. This craving has permeated every cell of my being, altering my very nature.
I squeeze my eyes shut when my phone rings. I answer like I’m compelled.
“I can’t sleep. What have you done to me?’
It’s a small consolation, but it proves my point. We’ve become too co-dependent.
“Can I come over?” he asks. His hopeful tone almost undoes me.
I chew on my lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” There’s a bite of frustration in his sharp tone.
“Because friends don’t need each other to sleep,” I sigh to emphasize my point.
“It’s not only about that,” he mutters.
“We can talk.” I offer instead. So lame.
“Fine,” he says, sulking. He’s adorable enough that I almost give in.
He hangs up and I gape at my phone, not believing he did that. Not even a minute later, there’s a knock on my door.
Opening, he greets me with a panty-melting grin. “I’m here to talk.”
“Really?” I ask incredulously. He has a way of getting his will that is as thrilling as it is terrifying.
He shrugs, not appearing guilty at all. “You didn’t specify.”
I shake my head at him, but let him in—so utterly weak for him.
He strides inside, going straight for the bedroom. I follow him as he makes himself comfortable in my small bed. I will blame that grin for agreeing. One more night.
I climb next to him, and he props an elbow on the mattress, his cheek resting on his palm.
“You’re the best thing in my life. My stability. I can’t lose that too.”
His vulnerability breaks my heart. His sincerity has me hugging him. “Ian… this seems like we’re setting ourselves up for trouble.”
His jaw sets in a firm line. “We managed so far, haven’t we?”
I nod, but I am not convinced at all. Snuggling myself further into his chest, he strokes my back, lulling me into blissful peacefulness.
“You’re starting to feel like home, Ian,” I whisper.
He presses a kiss on the top of my head. “You’re my home.”
Gulping down the ball of emotions, I ask, “How was today?”
“Made it through,” he groans. “And yours?”
I stiffen, and he tips my chin up, his eyes boring into mine. “What is it?”
I doodle a pattern on his chest absentmindedly and shrug. “Mine was great, actually.”
He cups my face and kisses the tip of my nose, eliciting goose bumps to stroke my body alive.
I can’t tell him to stop, famished for his ministrations—those sweet kisses and touches here and there.
