Page 68 of The Fake Divination Offense
His timid smile. Shit.
Shit shit shit.
All of this.
Just.
Shit.
I rearrange the pillows to give him space, and as he crawls in, puts his back to me with that bare shoulder sticking up, I clear my throat.
“If you, uh, feel anything thatwakes upbecause of this position, ignore it. I will.”
He cradles his head on a pillow, the side of his mouth pushing up in a grin. “Noted.”
I click off the light and pull the covers over us as I shimmy down behind him.
His bodyfits. His smaller frame nestles into my larger one, his legs curled up so I slot my knees under his thighs, my chin over his head, my arm around his waist. He pushes his fingers in between mine and holds our hands against his stomach, lifting his head so my other arm can slide under his pillow. My hips bump up against his ass and I choke down the gravelly moan that wants to come out, and I think he must guess, because I feel an aborted chuckle vibrate in his chest.
I bury my face in his curls and inhale so deep my lungs hurt at the pressure. Apples and brightness and a heady musk that’shim.I’m intoxicated.
After we both settle, our even breaths softly filling the dark room, he hums. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s held me. Thank you.”
I pull him closer, pressing around him more firmly, immovable.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I say, and lay a kiss on the sharpness of his bare shoulder. “This is exactly where I want to be.”
He shivers.
And I could so easily keep kissing his warm skin, trail my lips up the side of his neck and nibble on his ear until he’s writhing in my arms.
I drop my head to the pillow, digging my teeth into my tongue. “Goodnight, my Belle.”
“Goodnight,” a pause, “my big O.”
I snort into his hair and he laughs, too.
“Fuck yeah, I’m your big O,” I say, and his answering squeak when I bite his neck is the sweetest send-off I could ask for.
Chapter Nine
I wake up smoothly. And I’m feeling sappy enough to attribute it to the person doing their best impression of an octopus around me.
Alexo’s facing me, but I must not have moved much last night because I’m still curled toward him. He’s got one arm thrown over my waist and his leg wedged between my thighs to hook around my knee, his other hand wrapped across his own stomach to cling to the wrist I have poking out beneath his body.
Sunlight streams through the window’s gauzy curtains, pale light illuminating his rumpled bedhead and slack mouth, breaths puffing on my chest as he twitches in sleep.
The collar of my shirt is twisted around his shoulders and the comforter got kicked down at some point last night. Probably due to me being a raging space heater; I’m shocked Alexo’s crowded so close and isn’t sweating. But it lets me trail my eyes down his body, his long dancer’s legs, those pink polished toes, his hips twisted in the tangled position he’s knotted us in.
It pops his ass.
His ass that is currently uncovered by my shirt, showing tight black boxers that highlight his perfect bubble butt.
“Creeper,” he mumbles into my chest.
I flick my gaze to his face, and he’s smirking at me.
“Can you blame me? You’re gorgeous.” I arch down to kiss his jaw. “All soft and sleepy.” Another kiss on one of his dimples. “Laid out in my bed.”
