I can’t help it.
I melt and nuzzle more warmly against Christian. I ignore everything, forcing all the thoughts of how this could result in disaster, how this could ruin our friendship, how he’s not even awake, out of my mind.
And instead I let myself indulge, even for the briefest moment, in the fantasy that Christian has his arms wrapped around me because…because he wants me. Because I’m his, and he’s mine, and this is our bed, and we wake up like this every day.
God, something about that idea fills me with warmth, curling around me like a cat, insistent and purring.
Christian murmurs something indistinct, his arms tightening around me again, and I turn my head half into him, wanting to hear, wanting to be close.
His words are half from a dream. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling me
