Say you'll stay - Channing Tatum

P.43

Before I've opened my eyes and been met by the sun, trailed his freckled skin and taken in the sight of his fluttering golden lashes, I've felt it all.

Our legs are tangled together and his arm heavily draped over me in the most comfortable way. His warmth has become mine under the covers and I'm breathing too slowly, afraid he'll realize I'm awake and will let me go.

I would, if I were him. I'm letting myself go all of the time whenever I think of the things I say and do and how I could've handled a situation a thousand other ways. How much different a night could've ended if I did and how much better the memory of it could've been.

I try to stay in the moment as it is, but feel how it turns to clinging when last night fights its way to the top of my thoughts. I know I could've handled it differently and I know I probably should've, but it doesn't change the fact that I didn't and probably wouldn't either if I could turn back time and do it all over again.

"Are you awake?" He says against my neck, his voice hoarse, but not much more than a whisper.

I nod and make myself ready for him to pull back, for it to take over his thoughts too, but he only pulls me closer to him and I sink into his chest.

I haven't slept this good since I stayed with him last, at his house, in his guest room. I would never confess to him being the causality, but if I were asked, I wouldn't deny it either.

"How did you sleep?" I ask, somewhat mumbling, my eyes still closed. I wonder if he too sleeps better when we share a bed, or if it's just me.

He nuzzles his face in my hair while saying something I can't quite make out and as of instinct, I reach back and stroke my hand over his neck, just holding him to me.

"Your hair has grown since you shaved it," I note and feel behind his ear.

"Since you shaved it, you mean," he clarifies and leans into the palm of my hand. A smile shapes my lips and I think back on the night in the bathroom. How awful long ago it seems, while I at the same time remember it as if it were yesterday.

"Since I shaved it," I repeat. The skin behind his ear is soft and I let my hand wander along his jaw and down his neck.

"Do you.." he begins, "Do you like it short or should I let it grow back out?"

I wasn't expecting him to ask me that.

"I like the reason why you cut it short, and I like how it looks," I say, it being an understatement, "but you should grow it out if you like it better that way. You look handsome both ways." Of course he does. He's the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on.

"Handsome huh?" I hear him smiling through the words.

"You are, very much." I say, feeding his confidence.

His fingers wrap around my wrist and he presses my hand harder to him. He then traces the tips of his fingers along my arm, from my shoulder down to my elbow. "Will you shave it for me again?" he asks, his lips against my ear. His hand continues down my side, sending a wave of shivers through me.

"If you want me to." I get out.

The thought of reliving the experience makes me excited. Not only because I'll be the one doing it for him, again, but I also love his very short hair.

"I want you to."

"Okay." I say and bite back a smile. "When?" I can't help but ask, my eagerness clear as a day.

He smiles against my neck, "tomorrow," he murmurs and plants a kiss behind my ear.

His hand has now traveled down to the curve of my hip but hasn't stopped yet. It moves further down and I feel his eyes on me the entire time, studying my reaction as he lays the wick out, preparing the fire. I suddenly feel feverish, impatiently waiting while wondering what he'll do.