20. Dov
DOV
I stand over her bed.
She is completely unaware of my presence—I made sure of it.
She has her gift clutched to her chest, and the sight of it warms me.
It’s a connection, even if she doesn’t understand it.
Her shoulders rise and fall, and her breath ghosts in the air.
A loose strand of her red hair has fallen across her cheek, and her brow draws down in a frown, as though she’s being tested by a dream.
Her beauty is breathtaking. Even in sleep, she’s so full of life, and I fight the urge to take it for myself. I tell myself I’m only keeping watch—that it’s what I do—but she has a gravitational pull that I struggle to ignore.
I lean in closer than I should. I don’t want to wake her, but I need more. It’s been torture watching her from a distance these past couple of days. Now I’m so close, I don’t have the strength to pull away.
Pinching the edge of her blanket, I slowly pull it down her shoulders, then down her breasts, to her waist. She lets out a small sigh and rolls to her back, her hands falling either side of her head.
Her face twists against the pillow. I hope the room isn’t too cold for her, but I can see how her nipples have pebbled beneath her thin camisole.
It has lace around the deep neckline and the thinnest of straps, one of which has fallen down her smooth shoulder.
The amount of flesh on display is tantalizing.
I hold my hand above her skin, a mere breath of air between us.
Her warmth is like a sense of home that I’ve forgotten.
I ghost my fingers over her, tracing every curve, without ever making contact.
I imprint every inch to memory—the freckle above her collarbone, the small scar on the inside of her arm, the divot between her breasts.
I lower my face and inhale her scent, wishing I could take more.
My cock hardens and lengthens, and I utter a silent groan.
I can’t rush this. As much as I want to draw the blankets down farther, to expose the secret hot, wet place between her thighs, I need to take things slowly. The day will come when I can press my face there and inhale her scent, when I can touch her slickness, and perhaps even lose myself in her.
But if she wakes to find me here, with her, it will ruin everything.
I remember the sound fear makes—raw, primal. I remember how it changes the energy of this place. I won’t do that to her. Not tonight. Not ever, if I can help it. So I retreat into the dark and let her sleep.
Let her think the hotel is only old wood and cold spaces, and not a man trying to find the strength to stay away.