38. Claire
If killing together doesn’t bond a set of people, having each other’s cum on your lips must. We’re both quiet the rest of the shower once I finally get my mouth away from his. It’s a peaceful sort of quiet, not awkward or stilted, as we both contemplate our own thoughts. I let him wash me, and when I wrap the towel around myself and make for the bedroom door, he catches my hand in his and pulls me back. “Stay.”
My mouth opens of its own volition. “We agreed to one time, and we’ve far surpassed that.”
“We agreed to one night.” He says, stepping closer to me and tucking a strand of still-damp hair behind my ear. “And I want every minute of it.”
I’m not sure there are words sufficient for the feelings waging war inside me, but ‘no’ absolutely isn’t it. I can’t turn down that request, not when it came so sweetly from those lips that have been all over me tonight, and especially not when he looks at me like that. “I can’t. I—”
“I’m not asking for anything more, Claire. I just want you to sleep next to me.”
It seems like such an odd request, given that we’ve established boundaries beyond the boundaries we already blew to smithereens, but I’m too disarmed to say no. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“What a shame…” He says slowly, sounding none-too-bothered by that predicament. When I swat him playfully in the arm, he breaks into a grin and crosses to his dresser, digging a worn T shirt from one of the drawers and holding it between us with a little bit of reluctance. “You slept nude earlier.”
“Earlier wasn’t a choice.” I laugh, though I can’t deny I’m turned on by the thought of lying next to him all night without anything between us. The reality, I’m sure, wouldn’t be as sexy. I toss and turn too much to be comfortable with the sheets rubbing back and forth across my nipples.
“Fine.” He sighs dramatically as I take the shirt from him, so I throw him a bone and let my towel drop without turning around as I drag the shirt over my head. It barely covers my ass, and as he’s reaching for a fresh pair of boxers for me, I tell him not to bother and then dash over to his bed, diving quickly under the sheets. Something about sleeping without bottoms feels even more illicit than sleeping entirely nude, and I certainly don’t want any obstructions if he chooses to wake me up with a little bit of foreplay.
When I look back at him, it’s to see him lick his lips, almost like it’s an unconscious thought, and then he drops his towel and runs like I did, diving onto the bed right next to me. It takes a moment before he draws the sheets over his waist, but when he does, he turns to me with a grin that’s more smile than smirk. There’s something oddly genuine, oddly vulnerable, about the moment. And then he leans over to turn the light off.
For a moment, my voice sticks in my throat as I contemplate asking him to leave it on. I’m sure it would be weird for him to sleep with a perfectly unreasonable amount of light in the room, but I also don’t have any doubts that he’d do it if I asked. I also don’t have any doubts that I’ve never been safer than I am with him.
When I was younger, I was scared that the monsters of the world would come to me in the dark—whether they came to me from under my bed, a mirror across from where I slept, or the room across the hall. I’m old enough to know that monsters exist in the light, too. But this man has held my life in his hands. He’s pulled me from the darkness and carried me into a darkness of another kind. He’s worshipped me and desecrated me, and I’ve never felt so inexorably connected to someone.
Underlying all of the serotonin and the sense of peace is the smallest seed of negativity. It’s reality, waiting for a chance to shake me awake and ruin whatever spell we’re under.
I push it down as easily as Remy flips off the light switch. No sooner do I manage that, than he pats the space next to him.
The nightlight from the bathroom offers me all I need—especially because with the closet doors still bent, the reflection is magnified. I know what he’s suggesting even though he’s dimly lit. I draw closer to him, resting my head in the crook of his arm, breathing in the smell of the soap we both showered with, hearing his heartbeat as it reaches the ear I’ve pressed against his chest. He doesn’t wrap his arm around me, doesn’t close me in, and yet as I drift off to sleep, I feel entirely encompassed by him.