Chapter 20 #2
“Hold on a second,” Ewan interrupts, trying to sit up again, but I hold him in place.
I wonder if that’s going to earn me another bite, but he merely harrumphs and settles back in.
He puts a hand on the center of my chest, fingers spread, and I relax a little bit.
He can’t be that horrified if he’s still enamored with my chest hair.
“How does that work?” he asks curiously. “Like…you pretend to be asleep?”
“Mm, maybe? I don’t know, I’ve never done it before. It’s just something I think about sometimes.” Often. I think about it often. Actually, every sexual fantasy I’ve ever indulged in has featured someone sleeping.
“Tell me what you think about,” he requests. My face heats, surprised to find this conversation could manage to be more embarrassing. Ewan must pick up on this because he rubs a circle into my chest and adds, “It’s okay. It’s just us.”
“Usually, I’m asleep on my side, and you’re right behind me the way you sometimes like to sleep,” I start, opening my eyes and staring up at the ceiling as I talk through the fantasy.
“You just…touch me for a bit, but carefully because you’re trying not to wake me up.
And then you get a little braver and keep going, and we have sex. ”
“And you’re an active participant? Or it’s still just me?”
“Mostly you,” I admit. I don’t fall into a coma when I sleep, so there’s little chance of me not waking up if someone were to grab my dick.
But I imagine I’d pretend a little bit. Keep my eyes closed and my body limp—feign sleep instead of admitting wakefulness.
Ewan is silent for long enough that I try to come up with something placating to say beyond the obvious we don’t have to do this, though. “I know it’s odd.”
“No, it’s not. I do have a question, though.” I hum in agreement, sliding the pads of my fingers over the soft, smooth skin of his back. “How would I know that you wanted to have sex?”
Honestly, I hadn’t considered that as a problem. I don’t know that the prospect of me not wanting to sleep with him is something we should worry about. It’s unlikely enough to be an impossibility.
“I would,” I tell him. Immediately, he shakes his head, cheek scratching across my chest.
“You might not, though, Shi. Being in a relationship doesn’t automatically guarantee consent. You might wake up and prefer I not have my hand on your dick.”
“And then I’ll tell you to stop.”
He makes a little grumbling noise, which is cute enough to have me smiling up at the ceiling.
I’m feeling a little better now, having spoken the desire out loud and not been ridiculed for it.
Not that Ewan has a history of mocking me, but there is a first time for everything, and I imagine a discussion about bedroom kinks makes such a thing more likely.
“I’m not opposed to trying this,” he says quietly, lips moving against my skin. Every inch of my body tightens as though a strum of electricity just went through me. I hadn’t let myself hope.
“Only if you want to. It’s really not a big deal, Ewan. It’s just a fantasy.”
“It’s a big deal if it’s something you want and didn’t think you could have. I just want to make sure I’m not…molesting you, that’s all. It makes me a little nervous that you’d be unconscious.”
“Not for long,” I mumble, half in the conversation and half lost in the slow heat burning in my stomach.
My body would like to go ahead and get this party started, while my brain is aware that this is a serious conversation that needs to happen prior to anything else.
If I were smart, I’d slide Ewan away from me.
The proximity of his naked body this close to mine isn’t helping my brain cells to function.
“You’d wake up, right?” he clarifies, sounding nervous enough for me to feel bad. “You’re not so heavy of a sleeper you wouldn’t stay asleep the whole time, right?”
“Right. I think…I think I’d wake up and just not let you know I was awake.”
He blows out a breath, the air scooting across my chest and tickling my nipple. Not now, I think, when my blood starts rerouting southward.
“Okay. Okay,” he repeats. “I think I could do that, then. As long as we communicate and you tell me the moment I do something you don’t like.”
“I will,” I agree, while privately feeling certain there’s nothing I wouldn’t like. Ewan tips his face up to kiss the underside of my chin.
I feel a little lightheaded as the last of my nerves dissipate.
It’s funny how often I felt uneasy and unsure around Roy—a bumbling idiot compared to his sleek self-assurance.
Ewan doesn’t ever make me feel that way, and even now, after I’ve just said something I’ve been a little ashamed of my entire life, he’s not making a fuss of it.
He’s not doing anything but being accepting and even considering it, which is far, far more than I could have hoped.
I really shouldn’t even be surprised. As different as Ewan is now from the boy I grew up with, the core of him is still the same; the foundation of our relationship is still the same.
In all the ways that matter—kindness and love and acceptance—he’s unchanged.
“Now I’m horny,” he tells me, somewhat ruining the sweet moment. I laugh silently, my chest rising and falling under Ewan’s cheek. He snorts and rubs his hand down to my belly.
Rolling over, I push him onto his back and plant my hands on the mattress above his shoulders. He grins up at me, dark hair fanned out on the pillow and eyes bright. He arches up to me when I lower down to kiss him, determined to help him out with that particular problem.
Ewan’s side of the bed is cold when I wake up, which signifies a bad night of rest. If he sleeps well, that usually means he’ll be sleeping late, not up before me at three.
Yawning, I tap the screen on my phone and turn off the alarm before it can go off.
We aren’t hauling today, and usually, I’d try to go back to sleep, try and rest until at least five before starting the day.
And because I’m usually alone on my days off, they’re rarely more exciting than catching up on chores.
But Ewan was here when I went to sleep, and I can feel him in the house, even if he’s absent from the bed.
It’s possible he’ll want to work all day, holed up in the spare bedroom, but it’s also possible that he might be interested in going out.
My need to be around him constantly keeps getting worse and worse, an irritating itch in my brain telling me if I look away for a second, he’ll be gone.
There is a very real hourglass taking up space in this relationship, sand dropping faster than I’m comfortable with.
How long do I have before it’s empty and Ewan’s back on an airplane?
Sighing, I toss the covers back and sit up, scrubbing a hand over my face.
Well, since I’ve got the time, maybe I should finally trim the beard that’s gotten unruly enough to bother even me.
With Ewan living with me in everything but name, I’ve taken to turning the heat up for him so the walk to the bathroom and subsequent personal grooming is comfortable, even without getting dressed.
When I hop in the shower, I wonder if it’ll call him in from wherever he’s at, but I end up showering alone.
After, I walk quietly down the hall, softly tapping my knuckles on the door of the spare room.
There’s no answer, and I don’t hear any movement to indicate he’s in there.
The search for Ewan ends the moment I’m halfway down the stairs and have a view of the living room.
He’s sitting on the couch, head tipped backward and finger looped through the handle of a mug balanced precariously on his thigh.
He’s still and silent but for the soft sounds of breathing coming from his open mouth.
A surge of fondness rolls through me like a wave, expanding my heart and lungs until I swear I can feel my ribs cracking.
He must have come down for a cup of tea in the night and fallen asleep.
Stepping even more quietly now, I approach and very, very carefully pull the mug away and set it on the coffee table.
It’s a miracle he’s managed not to spill it, with the way he usually flops around like a fish on land.
He has such trouble falling asleep, and it never seems particularly restful to me, even once he’s there.
Tea safe on the coffee table, I look down at my sleeping lover.
His neck is stretched so far his Adam’s apple is protruding, and my own neck hurts just looking at him.
Deciding the best course of action is to just resettle him down here instead of waking him up, I place a throw pillow near the armrest.
Gently sliding my hand under his neck, I support his head and slowly bring him down until he’s horizontal.
He murmurs a little bit, nonsense noises and a mindless gesture with his arms, but doesn’t wake.
I pull his knees up as well, smiling when he tucks immediately into a ball, fingers reaching for the pillow I laid his head on.
Covering him with the blanket draped over the back of the couch, I take a moment to just look at him without the worry about being caught staring.
He really is beautiful. Perhaps not by movie-star standards, but lovely in the contrast between his hair and skin, the hollows under high cheekbones, and the full upper lip.
I push his hair back gently, heart pounding loudly enough I’m surprised he can’t hear it when he smiles in his sleep.
There is no possible way I’ll be able to live without this now that I know how things could be.