The Next Best Thing: Part II

Forty-Eight

I lost track of time.

I couldn't feel my legs.

I occasionally forgot to breathe inbetween all the kissing. He was agile, powerful and simply gorgeous, making sure I didn't forget who or what I was to him.

We were under the covers, over them, hanging off the bed, on the floor, in the shower and on the bed again.

We finally slept early the next morning, him close beside me, rocking me to sleep and whispering sweet nothings into my ear. I could hear his heartbeat, a slow and rhythmic pounding against his chest. This felt right.

I woke up much later, just after 10 a.m. on Christmas morning. I stared at Eoin until he stirred, his adorable sleeping frame, those blue eyes shut and his lips, his amazing lips, pursed, faint breathes escaping from them.

I stared because he looked so very handsome in his slumber, all kinds of cute and sexy nude under the covers, during which he held me in a loving embrace.

I remembered his camera which he always had on his person, safe in his leather overnight satchel. I ran downstairs to grab it, sneaking back into the room and climbing on top of the bed.

Hovering above him, I began snapping away at every angle, paying attention to his sharp jaw, zooming in on his bedhead and his abs not hidden by the covers.

"Zoe, what are you doing?" he asked curiously, opening one eye and raising an eyebrow in question.

"Taking pictures of you. You're so photogenic, you know," I praised him, peering at his face through the camera lense. "Smile, Eoin. Say 'Merry Christmas'."

He grinned at me, and reached out for my waist. "Merry Christmas, baby," he kissed me good morning.

"Merry Christmas, Eoin. Don't kiss me when I have morning breath. You do that a lot," I protested.

"I'm not particularly fussy about things like that," he breathed onto my lips, lunging into me again.

I kissed him back with a dopey grin on my face, and I couldn't help but feel so close to him, close enough for us to be reckless and spur of the moment.

He took his camera to take pictures of me, lying on my back in his comfy sweater. I posed for him, in the covers, standing on the bed, all the while hiding my face in embarrassment of how silly I looked in all of them. I blew kisses at him and I'd gaze at him with a desire burning in my chest, wanting him beside me and one with me again. He got the message.

He straddled my body and slowly pulled off the sweater to caress my chest. "I want to tell you something," he admitted quietly. "I want to tell you you're beautiful, you're smart and you're an amazing woman. I want to tell you you should hear this often. You deserve to love yourself for how uniquely talented and gorgeous you are."

He wrapped my legs around his waist and drew me into his force field. "I want to tell you I love you, I love you crazy," he confessed in a sultry whisper. "I love the way you stare at me, into my eyes, making me so nervous and so damn anxious. And those eyelashes." He let out a frustrated groan, tugging at my waist. "I've grown quite fond of all these things and I miss all of that when I'm away from you."

I listened to him, under his seductive spell and I was not going anywhere. I was hooked again, heading down the blissful lane of our euphoric state as he opened himself up more to me.

"I love you because you've allowed me to. You've opened up yourself, and you let your guard down around me, permitting yourself to love me too and trusting me to be honest about how I feel." And he added, "You waited for me to show you how much you mean to me, to give you what you, what we, have both known and wanted for a while now."