AJ’s hand slides from my wrist to my palm. His fingers thread through mine, and for a moment I consider pretending I do not notice how intimate that is.
Ridiculous, really, given what we have just done.
Still.
Some things feel more naked than naked.
“You need sleep,” he says.
“So do you.”
“I know.”
“Are you telling me what to do in my own bed?”
His eyes open fully. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“You definitely would.”
I laugh, and it costs me the last useful piece of my resistance.
AJ smiles, then lifts our joined hands and presses his mouth to my knuckles.
Not theatrical.
Not smug.
Just one tired, soft kiss that has no business feeling this gentle after the way he had me begging not so long ago.
I stare at him.
He does not look away.
I should say something.
But my body has gone heavy, the night shift finally claiming what adrenaline and lust borrowed from it. My eyelids drop once. Then again.
AJ moves closer, pulling the duvet over us both with an awkward manoeuvre that almost works. I make a small sound of protest when cold air hits my back, and he immediately tucks the fabric around my shoulder.
“Bossy even asleep,” he murmurs.
“I’m not asleep.”
“Convincing.”
The last thing I feel before I go under is his arm settling carefully around my waist.
I let it stay.
For reasons of warmth.
Obviously.
When I wake, someone is kissing my shoulder.
Not dramatically. Not urgently. Soft, slow kisses along the line where my shoulder meets my neck, each one followed by a breath that warms my skin before the next arrives.
For a second, I do not know where I am.
