Chapter 10: The Aftermath
The morning light came in warm, golden streaks through the wide bedroom windows, painting soft ribbons across the sheets. Ethan's eyes fluttered open to the sight of Bianca's long black hair splayed across the pillow, her face relaxed in sleep, lips parted just slightly. She looked impossibly beautiful in the morning glow, her skin luminous, the curve of her shoulder rising from the tangled duvet.
He tried to shift, to press closer into her warmth, and a sharp ache radiated through his lower back. His breath caught, a small hiss escaping through his teeth, and her eyes opened almost immediately. That deep brown gaze found his, hazy with sleep but sharpening with concern.
"Easy, baby," she murmured, her voice still rough with slumber. Her hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing the hollow beneath his eye. "You're sore."
"Just a little," he admitted, though the truth was his entire body felt like it had been through a gauntlet. His thighs ached, his ass throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, and there was a tenderness in his core that made him feel raw and exposed. But all of it was wrapped in a warm, hazy satisfaction that he couldn't quite put into words.
Bianca's hand slid down, trailing over his collarbone, his chest, settling against his belly with a gentle press. "I should have been gentler with you yesterday. I should have made Trixie wait."
He shook his head, the motion making the sleep-fog in his skull shift. "I wanted it. I wanted all of it."
"And I wanted to give it to you." She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Her lips lingered there, warm and soft. "But that doesn't mean you don't need care after. Come on, let me feed you. Then I'll work on those muscles."
She rose from the bed with a fluid grace that made his breath catch, her nudity still something that struck him with fresh wonder every single time. The curve of her hips, the way the morning light traced the valley of her spine, the soft sway of her breasts as she walked toward the bathroom. He watched her disappear through the door, heard the sound of the shower turning on, steam beginning to curl out into the bedroom.
Ethan lay there for a long moment, taking inventory of his body. The ache was pervasive but not unpleasant, a reminder of what he'd done, of who he'd been with. He thought of Trixie's bright pink hair and wicked grin, of the way she'd giggled while she thrust into him, of Bianca's moans as she'd come in Trixie's mouth. And then he thought about how Bianca had held him after, how she'd cared for him in the locker room shower, gentle hands washing away the evidence.
He pushed himself up, gritting his teeth against the protest of his muscles, and padded into the bathroom. The glass shower enclosure was fogged from the inside, Bianca's silhouette visible through the mist, her head tilted back under the spray. The warmth of the room wrapped around him, humid and intimate.
She turned as he entered, a smile blooming on her lips. "Room for two?"
"I thought you were taking care of me."
"I am. Get in here."
He stepped under the spray, hissing as the heat touched his skin. The water was nearly scalding, just the way he liked it, and he groaned as it poured over his shoulders, loosening the knots that had settled there overnight. Bianca pulled him close, her wet skin sliding against his, her hands finding the knots in his lower back.
"Jesus, Ethan. You're tight as a drum."
"First time having two beautiful women fuck me in a yoga studio. I think I'm allowed to be a little stiff."
She laughed, the sound bright and musical against his ear. "Trixie wasn't exactly gentle either."
"Trixie is a menace."
"Trixie is a treasure." Bianca's hands worked at his shoulders, strong fingers digging into the meat of his muscles, finding every knot and pressing until they released. He groaned, leaning into her, letting his head fall forward against her shoulder. The water ran down his back, over her hands, warm and constant.
Her hands drifted lower, along his spine, over his hips, down to the aching muscles of his thighs. "Does this feel good, baby?"
"It feels amazing."
She pressed a kiss to the curve of his shoulder, then his neck, her lips trailing along his skin. "I want to take care of you today. No drama, no play. Just us."
"Mmm." He tilted his head, catching her mouth in a slow, warm kiss. Her tongue swept against his, tasting of sleep and toothpaste, and he melted into her. "That sounds perfect."
They washed each other with lazy, unhurried movements. Bianca lathered soap over his chest, her palms gliding over his skin in slow circles that were more worship than hygiene. He returned the favor, working the suds through her hair, massaging her scalp until she let out a low, satisfied hum. The intimacy was different from their previous encounters, softer, quieter, but no less powerful. This was care, tenderness, the everyday love of two people who had found each other.
After the shower, she wrapped him in a towel and led him to the kitchen. The apartment smelled of coffee and, surprisingly, something warm and sweet.
"What are you making?" he asked, settling onto a stool at the island counter. His body protested every movement, but the ache had shifted from sharp to dull, a comfortable reminder.
"Pancakes. Blueberry. And bacon." She moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, wearing only a short silk robe that fell open at an angle that made his mouth go dry. "You need protein after yesterday."
"I think I got plenty of protein yesterday."
She shot him a wicked look over her shoulder. "From Trixie's mouth, sure. But I mean actual, real sustenance."
He laughed, watching her work. She flipped pancakes with a confident flick of her wrist, the batter sizzling in the pan, filling the air with the smell of butter and vanilla. The sunlight caught her profile, lighting the curve of her cheek, the sweep of her lashes. She was so achingly beautiful it made his chest tight.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked, not turning around.
"How beautiful you are."
The smile that curved her lips was soft, almost shy. "Flatterer."
"Just honest."
She brought him a plate stacked high with pancakes, crisp bacon arranged artfully on the side, and a steaming mug of coffee with a splash of oat milk. He hadn't told her he preferred oat milk, but she'd noticed anyway, remembered it. That small attention to detail undid him in a way that the sex never had.
"Eat," she commanded, settling onto the stool beside him, her own plate in hand.
He ate, and it was the best meal he'd had in months. The pancakes were fluffy and sweet, the bacon perfectly salty, the coffee strong and warm. Bianca ate with him, stealing a piece of bacon from his plate when she thought he wasn't looking, and he let her, filing away her happiness as its own small reward.
After breakfast, she led him to the living room. The couch was wide and plush, covered in throw pillows and a soft gray blanket. She gestured for him to lie on his stomach, and when he complied, she straddled his hips, her thighs warm on either side of him.
"You're going to kill me," he mumbled into the cushion.
"I'm going to fix you." Her hands found his shoulders, pressing slow, firm strokes into the muscle. She worked her way down his back, her palms gliding over his skin in long, even motions, finding every knot and working it loose. "Tell me if I press too hard."
"It feels incredible."
"Good." Her hands slid lower, along the sides of his ribs, her thumbs tracing over his spine. "Because I have plans for you, Ethan."
"Plans?"
"Mmhmm." She pressed into the small of his back, and he groaned, the ache in his muscles shifting, loosening. "I've been thinking about what comes next. About Jasmine, specifically."
His body tensed beneath her hands, a low pulse of awareness shooting through him. He'd thought about Jasmine too, about her sharp green eyes and regal bearing, the way she'd challenged him in that coffee shop bathroom, the way she'd come for him again and again until he was dizzy from the taste of her.
"Has she been in touch?" he asked, his voice muffled by the cushion.
"Not yet. But she will be." Bianca's hands slid over his lower back, working the tight, abused muscles of his ass. He hissed as her thumbs dug in, then relaxed, letting the pressure work through him. "Trixie sent her those pictures. She won't let that go unanswered."
The thought made his stomach flutter. "What kind of pictures?"
"Let's just say Trixie has a gift for angles." Bianca's voice was warm, amused. "And for making Jasmine feel left out. She's very good at pushing buttons."
"You're not worried?"
"Worried? No." She leaned down, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck, her breath warm against his skin. "Jasmine and I understand each other. And I know she wants you. Very, very badly."
"Want me," he repeated, the words tasting strange on his tongue.
"Want you desperately. The way she looked at you in that bathroom was almost possessive. She wanted to be the one who found you first." Bianca's hands stroked over his back, gentle now, almost soothing. "I think she's been waiting for the right moment to make her move."
Bianca's phone buzzed on the coffee table, the sharp vibration cutting through the comfortable quiet of the living room. She paused mid-stroke, her hands still pressed against the small of his back, and glanced over. Her lips curved into a knowing smile.
"Speak of the devil," she murmured, shifting off him. The loss of her warmth was immediate, a cool emptiness against his skin as she reached for the device.
Ethan turned his head on the cushion, watching her as she unlocked the screen. Her brow furrowed slightly, then smoothed as amusement bloomed across her face. She let out a low snort, her shoulders shaking a little.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice still thick with the relaxed haze of the massage.
Bianca held up the phone, the screen glowing bright in the morning light. A wall of text filled the display, all caps and exclamation points. "Jasmine is not happy we left before she got to the gym last night. Apparently she drove all the way out there, all dressed up, and found nothing but Trixie stretching in the empty yoga studio."
Ethan's stomach tightened. "Oh no."
"Oh no is right. She says, and I quote," Bianca cleared her throat, adopting a haughty, theatrical tone, "'I went to that gym looking for you and your boy toy and you were gone. GONE. I was wearing my good perfume, Bianca. And you know what I found? Just that pink-haired gremlin smugly gloating about her photos. I want my turn. Tonight.'" She snickered, scrolling further. "And then she used about thirty more exclamation points to really drive the point home."
"She's mad."
"She's not mad." Bianca set the phone down on her thigh and looked at him, her eyes warm with fond amusement. "She's very, very horny. Jasmine gets like this when she wants something. She doesn't get angry, she gets demanding. It's her love language."
Ethan's breath caught as a familiar heat stirred in his belly. The image of Jasmine materialized unbidden in his mind: sleek platinum hair gleaming under the lights, piercing green eyes fixed on him with that regal, measuring gaze, the way she'd commanded him to prove himself in that coffee shop bathroom. His cock stirred against the cushion, but as the arousal rose, so did a sharp, insistent throb from his well-used asshole. He winced, a small hiss escaping through his teeth.
Bianca's eyes sharpened immediately. "What's wrong?"
"Just..." He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. "My ass. Still sore."
She made a sympathetic sound, her hand coming to rest on the curve of his hip. "Of course it is, baby. You took Trixie's cock completely yesterday and your first cock in your ass the night before, and let me tell you, mine is by no means small. It was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen." Her voice was low, reverent, and he felt a flush of warmth spread through him at her praise. "But it was your first time and you took two fucking giant cocks back to back, and you pushed yourself hard. You need to rest, give your body a chance to recover before you start thinking about another round."
He let out a small, frustrated whimper, pressing his forehead into the cushion. "I know. I know. It's just..." He trailed off, heat creeping up his neck. "Now that you've put the image in my head, I can't stop thinking about Jasmine. About what it would be like."
"What it would be like to have her?"
"Yeah." The admission came out quiet, almost ashamed. "Her cock in my mouth, in my hands, in my ass. The way she'd look down at me with those eyes, telling me what to do." He swallowed hard. "It's driving me crazy."
Bianca giggled, a light, pleased sound. "You're insatiable, you know that? We had a three-way yesterday, we spent the night before making love, and you're already dreaming about the next one." Her hand stroked over his back, soothing and slow. "It's adorable, truly. But you need to learn patience, baby."
"I don't want patience."
"I know." She leaned down, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. "But if you keep working out with me, if you let your body build up its strength and tolerance, you'll be able to take all the cocks in your ass that you want. Jasmine's, Trixie's, whoever else catches your eye. You'll last longer, take them deeper, and trust me when I say that will make it infinitely better for everyone involved."
She shifted, and before he could anticipate it, her palm came down on his ass cheek with a light, playful slap. The impact sent a jolt through him, a sharp twinge that radiated up his spine, and he grimaced, a pained grunt escaping his mouth. But even as the sting faded, a grin tugged at his lips.
"Ow," he said, turning his head to look at her. "That hurt."
"I know." Her eyes glittered with mischief. "But you took it so well."
"You're making promises, woman. Promises my ass had better be able to cash soon."
Bianca's laugh was bright and warm, filling the room. She leaned down, her face hovering over his, her dark hair falling around them like a curtain. "Oh, I'm going to deliver on every single one. I have plans for you, Ethan." Her lips brushed his, soft and teasing. "Big plans. You're going to be the most satisfied, well-fucked, thoroughly adored man in this city."
He kissed her back, slow and deep, his hand reaching up to tangle in her hair. She tasted like coffee and maple syrup, and underneath that, like her. Like home. The ache in his body faded beneath the warmth of her attention.
When she finally pulled back, her expression had shifted to something more thoughtful. She picked up her phone again, fingers hovering over the screen. "I'm going to respond to Jasmine. You tell me if you're okay with this."
He tilted his head. "Okay with what?"
She began to type, her voice narrating the words as they appeared. "Jasmine, darling, I'm so sorry we missed you. Trixie was generous enough to share the highlights, but I promise the real thing is exponentially better. If you're free in three days, come to my place for dinner. Ethan will be here. He'll be our dessert."
Ethan's face flushed scarlet. The words hit him like a physical sensation, warmth spreading from his chest down to his toes. Our dessert. The implication was clear, decadent, and it made his cock twitch even as his ass gave another protesting throb.
"Bianca," he managed, his voice coming out a little strangled.
"Hmm?" She looked at him, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Something wrong?"
"You can't just say things like that."
"I just did." She grinned, her thumb hovering over the send button. "So, yes or no? Four days. Jasmine comes over. We have dinner, we talk, we see how the night goes. You as dessert."
He thought about it. About Jasmine's sharp wit and commanding presence, the way she'd praised him in that bathroom, called him a natural, made him feel like he was born for this. He thought about Bianca's generosity toward sharing him, the easy confidence with which she directed his exploration. He thought about the ache in his body, already beginning to subside, and the promise of what he might be able to take in a few more days.
"Yeah," he said, his voice coming out stronger than he expected. "Yes. Do it."
Bianca's smile was radiant. She hit send with a decisive tap, then tossed the phone onto the couch cushion beside her. "It's done. She'll respond within the hour, trust me. Jasmine can't resist a good dinner invitation."
"What if she can't wait four days?"
"Then she'll have a lot of exclamation points in her text message." Bianca's hands found his shoulders again, resuming the massage with renewed vigor, working the knots that had begun to re-form. "But she can be patient when she needs to be. And the wait will make it sweeter."
Ethan let out a long, slow breath, his body relaxing into her touch. The image of Jasmine hovered at the edges of his mind, but it was softer now, a promise rather than an obsession. He had three days to recover, three days to prepare, three days of being cared for by the woman who loved him and who was eager to share him with another.
He sank into the cushions, letting Bianca's hands work their magic, and let himself drift.
The massage wound down slowly, Bianca's hands moving from firm, focused pressure to long, soothing strokes, her palms gliding over his skin like she was memorizing the landscape of his back. By the time she finished, Ethan felt like he'd been remade, every knot and tension dissolved under her patient touch. His muscles were loose and warm, the sharp ache in his ass reduced to a dull, distant memory.
"There," she murmured, pressing a final kiss between his shoulder blades. "All better."
He turned onto his side, looking up at her. She was still straddling his hips, the silk robe hanging open to reveal the smooth curve of her breast, the soft plane of her stomach. The morning light caught the damp strands of hair escaping her ponytail, making them gleam like spun obsidian. He reached up, brushing a strand behind her ear.
"Thank you," he said softly. "For taking care of me."
Her eyes softened. "Always, baby. Always."
She shifted off him, sliding down to the floor with a grace that still surprised him, then tugged at his hand. "Come on. Let's find something mindless to watch and just be. You need rest, and I need to hold you."
He let her pull him up, his body moving easier now, the soreness an echo rather than a shout. She led him to the bathroom first, pressing a bottle of ibuprofen into his palm with a glass of water, watching until he swallowed it down. Then they padded into the living room together, the afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows, casting long, golden rectangles across the hardwood floor.
Bianca flopped onto the couch with the careless grace of a cat, arranging herself among the throw pillows, then patted the space beside her. Ethan settled in, and she immediately shifted, rearranging them until she was sprawled against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin, her body curved along his side. She pulled a soft gray blanket over both of them, tucking it around his legs with a fussy, maternal care that made his throat tight.
"Comfortable?" she asked, her voice already drowsy.
"Very."
"Good." She grabbed the remote, flipping through streaming options with lazy, disinterested clicks. "What do you want to watch? Something with explosions? A nature documentary? Terrible reality TV where I can make fun of everyone?"
"Whatever you want."
She snorted. "That's not an answer."
"It's the most honest answer I've got. I just want to be here with you."
She turned her head to look at him, her eyes soft. Then she pressed a quick kiss to his jaw and turned back to the screen. "Fine. We're watching terrible reality TV. There's this show about people who renovate haunted houses, and it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen. You'll love it."
She settled on an episode and let the remote fall to the cushion beside her. Her hand found his, interlacing their fingers, then brought it up to press a kiss to his knuckles before letting it drop back to her chest.
The show was, indeed, ridiculous. A family had bought a Victorian mansion in upstate New York, and the host, a woman with aggressively blonde hair and a voice that could cut glass, was insisting the property was plagued by a "cranky Victorian ghost" who didn't like the color scheme. Bianca laughed at every marketing hook, offering commentary with a wicked gleam in her eye.
"Ghost doesn't like sage green," she said dryly. "The ghost has taste, at least. That shade is offensive."
Ethan laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest, and she nestled closer at the vibration. He wrapped his arm more firmly around her side, his hand coming to rest on her hip, fingers splaying over the curve of her ass cheek through the thin silk of her robe. He traced lazy circles there, feeling the soft warmth of her skin through the fabric, and she let out a contented hum.
His other hand found her hair, carding through the long, dark strands, working out a small tangle with careful fingers. She made a sound that was almost a purr, her head tilting into his touch like a cat seeking affection.
"Your hands are magic," she murmured, her voice half-lost in the fabric of his shirt.
"My hands?"
"Mmhmm. You keep touching me like I'm something precious. I'm not used to that." Her fingers resumed their aimless patterns on his thigh, tracing letters, shapes, small spirals that made his skin prickle with warmth. "I've had lovers who touched me like I was a conquest, or a plaything. Never like I mattered."
His chest tightened. "You do matter. You matter more than anything."
She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was softer, almost vulnerable. "I know. That's why I feel safe with you."
The words settled over him like a blanket, warm and heavy. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, something floral and clean. His hand continued its slow, absent movements on her hip, tracing the curve of her, the dip of her waist, the swell of her ass. She was so soft, so warm, so perfectly fitted to his side that he couldn't imagine being anywhere else.
They watched the show in comfortable silence for a while. On screen, the family was now arguing about whether the ghost was actually the spirit of a former groundskeeper who had been murdered over a dispute about rhododendrons. Bianca snorted, offering a running commentary about the production value, but her hand never stilled on his thigh, and his never stopped tracing patterns on her.
He loved this. The simple intimacy of holding her, of being allowed to touch her without a specific purpose, to just exist in her space and have her want him there. She was so often the one in control, directing their encounters with confident authority, and he loved that too. But this, this quiet domesticity, made him feel like something more than her plaything, her sub, her cock whore. It made him feel like her partner, her person, the one she chose to come home to.
"You're thinking too loud," she murmured, not opening her eyes.
"I'm just... happy."
She turned her head, looking up at him with those deep brown eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. This, right here. This is everything I didn't know I wanted."
Her lips curved into a slow, radiant smile. She shifted, rising up just enough to press a kiss to his mouth, soft and lingering. "You're so sweet, Ethan. You know that?"
"I'm just honest."
"I know." She settled back against his chest, her hand sliding up to rest over his heart, feeling its steady beat. "You're always honest. It's one of the things I love most about you."
He loved hearing her say that. He loved that she could say it casually now, like it was a fact of the universe, that she loved him. It still made his chest tight, made his breath catch, made him want to wrap himself around her and never let go.
The show shifted to a commercial break, and Bianca used the opportunity to burrow deeper against him, pulling the blanket up to her chin. "I could stay here forever," she said, her voice dreamy. "Just like this. The world could end and I wouldn't care."
"Same."
"Don't let me fall asleep, though. I have a meeting at four."
"What kind of meeting?"
"Client consult. Interior design." She waved a hand vaguely. "A couple who want to turn a warehouse into a loft with floating walls. Very avant-garde. They'll probably hate everything I suggest and then hire me anyway."
"Sounds like artists."
"Software engineers, actually. Which is worse." She nuzzled into his chest. "But I could skip it. Stay here with you. Let them find someone else to design their pretentious floating walls."
"You wouldn't."
"I would. I'd quit everything and just lie here forever, feeling your heartbeat." She pressed a kiss to his sternum, right over his heart. "This is better than any loft."
He laughed softly, his hand tightening on her hip, pulling her closer. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm in love."
The words hung in the air between them, bright and weightless. He tilted his head, kissing her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. "I love you too. So much it's almost scary."
"Scary how?"
"Scary because I've never felt this way before. Like everything in my life before you was just... waiting. Marking time until I stumbled into that club and found you."
She went very still, her hand flattening against his chest. When she spoke, her voice was thick. "I found you."
"What?"
"You stumbled in, but I found you. You were standing at the edge of the dance floor like a lost puppy, looking at everything with those big hazel eyes. And I thought, that one. That one is special." She looked up at him. "And I was right."
He couldn't speak for a moment, his throat too tight. He pressed his face into her hair, breathing her in, and she let him hold her, letting the silence stretch, comfortable and warm.
The commercial break ended, and the show resumed. The family was now convinced the ghost had followed them to their new apartment, and the host was assuring them, with completely unfounded confidence, that she could perform a "digital exorcism" using a modified overhead projector. Bianca laughed until she wheezed, her body shaking against his, and Ethan couldn't help but laugh with her, the moment dissolving into easy, shared joy.
"God, this is terrible," she gasped, wiping her eyes. "I love it so much."
"You're a snob with terrible taste."
"The best kind of person." She reached up, ruffling his hair. "That's why I keep you around."
"Keep me around for my taste?"
"For your everything." She settled back, her fingers finding his again, interlacing them over her heart. "Today, tomorrow, forever. You're mine, Ethan. And I'm yours."
He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her temple, breathing against her skin. "Forever works for me."
The afternoon deepened around them, the golden light shifting to amber, then soft orange. The show ended, and Bianca flipped to another, something about competitive baking that she insisted was "artistically profound" and "not at all because the judges are mean." Ethan watched with half his attention, the rest of him absorbed in the feeling of her against him, the weight of her, the warmth, the scent of her hair in his nostrils.
Her fingers traced slow, hypnotic patterns on his stomach, just above the waistband of his lounge pants. She wasn't being teasing, not really. It was just the way she touched him when she was relaxed, an unconscious need to stay connected, to keep him close. He mirrored it, his hand sliding along her side, over the silk of her robe, tracing the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the soft swell of her breast through the fabric.
"You know I can feel your heartbeat when you're like this," she murmured. "You're so attentive. Your whole body focuses on me."
"You're worth focusing on."
"Mmm." She tilted her head, catching his gaze. "And what are you thinking about, when you focus on me?"
He considered the question. "How lucky I am. How I almost didn't come to the club that night. How different everything would be if I'd listened to my roommate and stayed home."
"But you didn't."
"No. I didn't." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "And now I'm here, with the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, holding her like she's mine."
Her lips curved. "I am yours, Ethan. Completely."
"I know." He hugged her tighter, his hand splaying over her stomach, pulling her flush against him. "And I'm yours. Completely."
She let out a long, slow breath, her body relaxing fully into his. "I feel so safe with you," she repeated, the words barely above a whisper. "I didn't know I was waiting for that feeling until you gave it to me."
His chest ached, warm and full. He held her, his thumb tracing small circles on the underside of her breast, just the weight of his hand on her, the acceptance of her body against his. "You always feel safe with me," he promised. "Always."
She believed him. He could feel it in the way she melted, the way her guard came down, the way she breathed. This was more intimate than any sex they'd had, he realized. This quiet communion, this trust. This was the real thing.
The competitive baking show ended, and Bianca yawned, her jaw cracking. "I should get ready for my meeting," she said, but she made no move to leave.
"You have time."
"I do." She settled deeper into him. "Fifteen more minutes."
"Fifteen more minutes," he agreed.
They stayed like that, tangled together under the gray blanket, the sun painting long shadows across the floor. Her hand found his again, and they lay in comfortable silence, simply being. He could feel himself drifting, the exhaustion of the past days catching up with him, the safety of her arms pulling him down into a soft, warm haze.
"Sleep," she murmured, her lips against his neck. "You need it."
"Don't want to miss any of this."
"You won't. I'll be here when you wake up." She pressed a kiss to his neck, then his jaw. "I'll always be here, Ethan. Sleep."
He let his eyes close, her warmth surrounding him, her heartbeat steady against his ear. The last thing he felt was her hand on his chest, her fingers tracing a small heart over his own, before the darkness pulled him under.
He dreamed of her, of course. Of her laughter, her touch, the way she looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. He dreamed of the club, of the dance floor where they'd met, of the way she'd taken his hand and led him into a new life. And when he woke, it was to the fading warmth of the evening sun, the weight of her still against him, her fingers still tangled with his.
"You fell asleep," she said softly, her voice full of wonder. "You were so peaceful."
"How long was I out?"
"Almost two hours." She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "You needed it."
He blinked, orienting himself. The living room was dimmer now, the golden light replaced by the soft purple of dusk. The TV had been turned off, and a glass of water sat on the table beside him, condensation beading on the glass.
"You should have woken me for your meeting."
"I did. I went, I came back. You were still sleeping." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I didn't have the heart to move you."
"You went to your meeting?"
"I did. It was a disaster, just as predicted. They want a floating wall, but they also want to preserve the original brick. Do you know how hard it is to engineer a floating wall on exposed brick?" She waved a hand. "Anyway, I handled it. And then I came home to find you still here, still beautiful, still mine."
He laughed, the sound rough with sleep. "You came home to me."
"I always will." She shifted, stretching, and then settled back against him. "How are you feeling? Your body?"
He took stock. The ache was mostly gone, a lingering tenderness that was more memory than sensation. "Better. Much better."
"Good." She nuzzled into his neck. "Because I have intentions for you tonight."
"Oh?"
"Mmmhmm. Low-impact intentions. Something gentle." Her hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, coming to rest on his hip. "You need to be eased back in, after all. Reminded of what it's like to be touched with intention rather than intensity."
"I like intensity."
"I know you do. But intensity with a soft landing is the best kind." She kissed him, slow and deep, and he melted into her. "Dinner first. Then I'll take care of you. The way you took care of me."
The promise in her voice made his pulse quicken. He looked at her, at the soft curve of her smile, the love in her eyes, and he knew, with absolute certainty, that he was exactly where he was meant to be.
"Okay," he said, his voice rough. "I'm yours."
"You always are." She kissed him again, then rose from the couch with fluid grace, holding out her hand. "Come on. Let me feed you before I devour you."