Page 73 of Until the Storm Breaks

She shifts slightly, pressing closer, and I tighten my arm around her. Her skin is soft under my palm. Last night feels like a fever dream, but the evidence is everywhere: her clothes scattered across my floor, the lingering taste of her on my lips.

Just thinking about last night, the sounds she made, the way she came apart under my hands. Fuck. I’m already hard, and she’s not even awake yet.

“Stop thinking so loud,” she mumbles against my chest, voice rough with sleep.

“Didn’t know you were awake,” I say, running my hand down her spine.

“I’m not.” She burrows deeper into my side, her leg slidinghigher across mine. “This is a dream. Shut up and let me enjoy it.”

I run my fingers through her hair. She makes a small contented sound that does something to my chest, something warm and dangerous. Something that feels suspiciously like the kind of feeling that makes you do things like buy houses and make promises.

“Good dream or bad dream?” I ask.

She lifts her head, eyes still heavy with sleep but already sparking with mischief. “Depends. Are you going to make me coffee, or are you going to lie here memorizing the ceiling?”

“I was memorizingyou, actually.”

“Oh.” Her smile goes soft, almost vulnerable, and she ducks her head back against my chest like she needs to hide that much feeling. “That’s... acceptable.”

She stretches against me, cat-like, pressing the full length of her body along mine. I trail my fingers down her spine, counting vertebrae, learning the geography of her back. There’s a spot just above her hip that makes her shiver, and I file that information away for later.

“Should we get up?” she says after a moment, but she makes no move to get up, just melts further into me.

“Not yet,” I murmur against her hair. “Let’s just... stay here for a bit.”

She tilts her face up to look at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I pull her up for a kiss. It’s slow and lazy, unhurried.

“This is nice,” she sighs contentedly.

“Just nice?”

“Fishing for compliments already?” She traces lazy patterns on my skin, circles and swirls that make my breath catch. “Fine. This is perfect. You’re perfect. Your bed is significantly better than mine, and I’m never leaving.”

“Good,” I say, meaning it. “Don’t leave.”

“Smooth talker.” But she’s smiling as she says it. “Though I really do need coffee soon or I might die.”

“So dramatic.”

“You don’t know me before coffee,” she says. “I’m basically feral.”

We stay like that for a while longer, quiet and comfortable, listening to the birds outside. Eventually she sighs and pushes up. She grabs my t-shirt from the floor and pulls it on before gathering the rest of her clothes. The shirt hits mid-thigh, and something about her in my clothes makes my chest tight.

“I need coffee, but I’m going to jump in the shower first,” she says, disappearing into the bathroom.

While she showers, I pull on yesterday’s jeans and start coffee, listening to the water run and trying not to think too much about her naked in there. When she emerges, hair damp, wearing my t-shirt and her underwear from last night, I hand her a cup and take my turn in the shower.

By the time I’m out, she’s scrambling eggs and making toast. I jump in to help and we move around each other in the kitchen with surprising ease for two people who’ve never done this dance before.

“This is nice,” she says, hopping up on the counter while the eggs cook, mug cradled in her hands.

“Yeah, it is.”

“I mean it,” she continues, looking at me over her mug. “I haven’t had a morning like this in... maybe ever.”

“Me either.”