I frowned at him. And inwardly frowned at myself for the shivers, the delightful shivers elevating my mood even more so with the simple touch at my neck. At the twinkle in his eyes mixed with the velvet of his desire. At the weight of his body on mine. And of the utter fucking male perfection who was currently naked, grinning and on top of me.
“You’re happy,” I said, my voice thankfully not betraying any of my “tingle” thoughts. I was not a “tingle” girl. And Keltan certainly did not need to think he’d created one.
Maybe I was coming down with something.
Mono, I thought hopefully.
“No one should be happy in the morning,” I continued.
The twinkle dimmed in his eyes, although not disappearing completely, just making way for desire and something arguably more intense. His hand moved so the pad of his thumb rubbed against my bottom lip. He leaned down, eyes never leaving mine, his naked flesh imprinting his scent on me.
“Lucy. One, I’m awake. Alive. No one’s shootin’ at me, and I don’t have to get up and shoot at other people,” he murmured. His eyes went faraway for a sliver of a second before snapping back like elastic to the present moment. “So that alone is makin’ me happy.” He paused, leaning down to lay a chaste but somehow intensely erotic closemouthed kiss on my lips. He pushed up slightly so our faces were but a whisper apart.
“Now, instead of dreamin’ about the woman with skin as white as snow, hair as black as night, a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush and a pussy that would start fuckin’ wars—ones I’d fight in and win, by the way,” he added with a hard yet teasing glint to his eyes. “Instead of dreaming of her, I’m waking up with her.” He stroked the side of my face. “I’m literally living my fuckin’ dream waking up to you after fuckin’ you all night. After watching movies with you, laughing with your crazy sister and just bein’ here in your home you’ve filled with black but somehow drenched in color. Not just that, I get to wake up.” His eyes lost all teasing glint. “No one, not me, not anyone, should be just happy about this morning. A man needs to do every fuckin’ thing in his considerable power to not only search for a word beyond happy, but to find a way to give it to the woman in his arms and make sure she doesn’t leave him. Ever.”
The air, once pleasant and clean and empty apart from scents of him and me and sex, was so full it was like I was under that wake water once more. I could barely breathe through the words, the intensity in them.
Before I could do what my body urged me to do the moment the words settled like lead—run, like I always did—he continued speaking, that time with the velvet back and in a rasp that was pure sex.
“But first. I’m gonna wake you up in a way that’s gonna ensure you wake up happy too, Snow,” he murmured, kissing my neck as his hand trailed down the side of my breasts.
So, I didn’t run.
I stayed still.
And drowned in him once more.
It was after a shower and coffee that I finally found a semblance of rationality. Coffee usually came with a side of rationality. It not only helped chase off sleep, but it helped chase off dreams too.
The dream standing in front of me wearing nothing but faded jeans, unbuttoned, showing off that delicious male V that made women everywhere shudder just a little. His washboard abs and tattoos, as well as his scars, were on display. He leaned against my kitchen counter easily, crossing one ankle over the other and sipped from his own cup. Droplets of water were twinkling on his skin, residue from his own shower.
Okay, his shower was my shower.
I didn’t say reason came in the shower. But I did. Twice.
He was looking at me lazily, but in an alert type of way, the way a fisherman might be content floating on still waters even when he knew a storm was coming, so he waited.
“Fuck,” he muttered, breaking eye contact with me and rubbing the back of his neck.
I squinted at his hair, still in its military-issue buzz cut. I wondered idly about how he would look with it grown out, brushing the nape of his neck.
Not that I’d be around to see that.
“Fuck what?” I asked from my spot across from him.
He raised a brow, eyes twinkling with erotic suggestion. And even though the slightly juvenile response should have irritated me, I found myself swallowing roughly at the reminder of just how well he’d fucked me the previous night. And that morning. And five minutes ago.
But I maintained it. The distance between us in the kitchen, and the emotional distance I was sprinting towards trying to create between now and the sex.