Chapter 24 #2
He’d told me he didn’t want to wake me, which is all well and good, but I couldn’t have fallen asleep if I’d wanted to. Trusting he was on that plane coming back and the worry that he wasn’t circled my nervous system all night, making it hard to breathe, let alone sleep.
The house is dark when I get down the stairs, small slivers of light sneaking through the windows from the moon but not nearly enough to provide visibility.
I can hear Ewan struggling to get his key in the door.
Unlocking it from my side, I pull it open to save him the trouble, and there he is.
Hands full and a suitcase waiting at his feet, the motion lights next to the doorframe bright on his pale face and deepening the shadows of the yard.
“You’re awake,” Ewan says, dropping the duffel bag with a thump and pulling me into a hug.
He smells like stale airport air and whatever that fancy cologne is he favors.
The skin on his neck where I press my face is warm, his arms strong as they lock around my middle and tighten.
I knew he’d come back, I think, and wait for all my doubts to slink away before I lift my head and kiss him.
He makes a muffled sound and returns it only for a second before tilting his head away.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth in, like, twelve hours,” he explains. “I have airport mouth.”
Smiling, I reach for his bags and kick my leg back to open the door wider.
He yawns, stretching his arms over his head as he enters.
The light from the front glows as I close and lock the door, pushing Ewan’s bags to the side to be dealt with in the morning.
He’s waiting for me in the dark and melts against me when I slide an arm around his waist. There are a lot of things I need to talk to him about, but the urgency has lessened.
“How was your trip?” I ask him as we walk upstairs.
“Eh. It was fine. Busy.” His words end on another yawn, this one muffled in my shoulder as he turns his face against me. My heart patters with delight. Oh boy, did I fucking miss him.
“Bed?” I offer.
“Shower?” he counters, before adding, “Together?”
We stand under the water far longer than is needed for him to get clean, talking in quiet voices about his gallery show and stroking gentle hands over slick skin.
Sleep becomes a less pressing demand when those fingers slip down into my crease, teasing and light.
I do a little touching of my own, and we eventually find ourselves in the bedroom, sheets cool from my absence and the hum of the ocean in the distance.
Ewan makes slow, silent love to me, his pace sedate enough for me to hold back an orgasm and eventually flip us around to return the favor.
He laughs softly when his back hits the bed, spreading his legs as I reach for the discarded lube, chin lifted as he waits for my mouth to return to his.
We fall asleep sated and snuggled up, Ewan spooned behind me with his cheek pressed to my shoulder and a leg pushed between mine.
We wake up the same way, and I have the added bonus of being made love to.
Ewan is an athletic sleeper, prone to kicking and rolling and mumbling in his sleep.
Already, in the very short time we’ve been sharing a bed, my subconscious has learned to ignore every shift in the mattress.
This morning, I don’t wake up until I feel fingers between my legs, cool and wet and searching.
I’m tired enough that not even that is enough to fully tug me into wakefulness.
Instead, I float in that calm space between dreams and reality, back warm from Ewan and body relaxed from our lovemaking the night before.
The press of that finger inside pushes me that final distance.
Already relaxed—already stretched—it’s easy to stay still and silent, pulse hammering but otherwise maintaining the facade of sleep.
Ewan is silent, his own arousal apparent only in the rapidity of his breaths against my shoulder and the hard line of his dick against my leg.
Eyes closed, desire thrums through my body as Ewan touches me everywhere but my own aching cock.
I’ve gone from asleep to ready to come in less than a minute, the transition uncomfortable enough to be painful.
It’s the fact that Ewan’s doing this for himself that gets me, the fact that asleep, I’m nothing more than a warm body for him to use.
I have no say in what we do or how we do it, and the eroticism is dialing my arousal up to eleven.
When the blunt head of his dick teases my rim, I turn my face into the pillow the same way I had to before.
I can’t make noise or move, so there’s no way for my pleasure to escape other than through hard breaths panted into the pillow.
Just like he did last night, Ewan keeps his movements painfully slow, pushing in and pulling out centimeter by aching centimeter.
When the press of his hips against my ass pushes me forward, my dick rubs against the mattress, and I nearly groan.
Everything is too sensitive, too pleasurable.
I keep my eyes closed and hands still on the mattress in front of me, but I know without looking that I’m leaking.
I’ll be the first to come this time around.
And so it is, when Ewan’s fingers coast around my chest and brush my nipple, that I do.
Ewan’s thrusts become a touch more urgent as though watching me come untouched is bringing him closer to the edge.
I keep the charade up for myself but also for him, safe in the knowledge that my little fantasy is just as hot for Ewan as it is for me.
He gasps through his own release minutes later, burying himself deep and staying there, teeth scraping and lips kissing across any skin he can reach.
I grab his hand and bring it up to my mouth, planting a few kisses of my own.
“Missed you,” he whispers.
“Please stay,” I reply, not having meant to say those words here or now. I freeze, squeezing his fingers too hard, and open my mouth to take it back, to offer me going as an option.
“I am,” Ewan replies before I can speak the words. “I am.”