Page 289 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

chest bare, messy hair, eyes set to kill.

I yank him back over me.

“She texted me last night to check on me. Forgot to answer and left her hangin’. Now calm down. It’s too early for this.”

He drops,

his fevered skin spilling everywhere.

His elbows cage me in, a storm still riding the edges of his irises, his heartbeat punching into mine.

…Until it falls in rhythm, the fire calming to a smolder, burning slow now instead of ripping through him.

And it’s only us now⁠—

well, him, me, and Little Death.

Cold December creeps through the window, the city still wet from last night’s snow. But the sunrise bleeds through cracks in the skyline,

staining the bed in copper,

slipping heat across my legs in patches.

My toes curl against the sheets,

chasing the warmth.

We’re chest to chest, stomachs flush,

and my head’s stuck on one thought:

he’s here.

Actually here.

Waking up with me.

In my bed.

In boxers that say, ‘I respect you.’

And an erection that murmurs, ‘But yo⁠—

lemme disrespect you for like two seconds.’

Then when he breaks into a smile, like the we’re-finally-here just dawned on him too?

It undoes me.

And it’s dangerous how easy it is to picture this being routine. Him lying on top of me, his stupid grin touching my skin.

I wouldn’t hate it.

I’d want it. Every morning.

Fucking fuckety fuck-fuck shit.

Normally by this time I’d have a finger or tongue attached to my clit in Room 613, gettin’ the first climax of the day out of the way.