Against my better judgement

Chapter 18: undercover, under covers

That night she hears his words echo back to her in a dream. I love you. Visions of his hand taking hers, his soft lips smoothing against her forehead, her body pressed against his as they sway to the faint tune of music, head tucked under his chin. The Flip of her dreams is unconstrained by their real-life drama. He is unafraid to love her, undaunted by the consequences of their relation. In her dreams, his presence frees her.

            The real world was not so simple.

Sunlight pours into her room, glows against her closed eyes until she rouses from her slumber. She tries to stretch away her tiredness, extends her toes so far they peak out of the bottom of her duvet. It takes her a moment to notice the weight across her torso, the same muscled arm from her dream hangs over her body, fingers loosely grasping below her breast. Her eyebrows crinkle as she watches Flip's arm rise and fall with each of her breaths.

            He never stays the night.

He doesn't dare to see her bed head or morning mouth. She rolls underneath his outstretched limb, feels the weight of his arm like cement as she turns, faces so close now that she can feel the warmth of his breath. She's never seen him so rested, never seen his features free of frustration or pleasure. The bags under his eyes are all but gone, the crease of concern that often hangs in his brow nowhere to be seen. His breaths are heavy through plump lips, exhales strong enough to blow strands of her hair out of her face. She stares at the sleeping giant in front of her, tries to wrap her head around the situation. Flip Zimmerman, the Flip Zimmerman, had told her he loved her last night. Even thinking those words sounded absurd. This was the same man who had taken two weeks to call her anything other than "rookie", the same man who had told her never to tell anyone he had taken care of her that night after Landers' attack, the same man who would get up and dressed the moment she dared to ask him a question that didn't involve sex or work. Maybe he didn't mean it, she thinks, maybe it just slipped out. She wouldn't put it past him. There had been more than a few times he'd been loving her just right and she'd thought about letting those same words tumble out of her mouth. But no, this was different. He had been different. He had caressed her with the aurora of a changed man. There had been no hair pulling, no thrusting so rough she would struggle to walk the next morning, no reddened spank marks on her skin. He hadn't even hit her with his favourite line, "you're my little slut." Hell, he barely said anything at all, restricted himself to moans and heavy breaths when his lips weren't pressed against her own. Can you make love and not be in love? She toyed with the question, searching for answers among his sleeping features, surprised when the corners of his mouth began to twitch, fixing into a yawn as his brown eyes squinted open. Her stomach is suddenly alive with butterflies, terrified he might wake and regret his decision. Through heavy lids, his eyes fall on her, a smile creeping across his lips as her image focuses into shape. Her stomach quells as she sees the admiration of his gaze. He feels as if he's seeing her for the first time, imprinting her features into his mind. Even now, with her face half obscured by the plump of her pillow, she is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. Her features couldn't be arranged more perfectly, couldn't form a face as captivating as this one. He could spend the rest of his life looking at her and still find a new way to appreciate her beauty every day. It feels absurd he had once convinced himself he didn't want this; to be laid up next to a beautiful woman who wanted nothing more than for him to give himself to her. As he reaches up to touch her face, thumb tracing a ling across her cheekbone, he knows he'll do anything to be with her.

            "Good morning," he purrs, leaning across the distance between them to place a wet kiss against her mouth.

He can feel her lips forming into a smile underneath him, the feel of her hands snaking around his neck. She leans into his mouth, overcome with how perfect the situation feels. He nuzzles into the side of her face, buries his lips in her neck while she laughs, playfully bats him away. He gives in, props himself up on his palm as looks down on her face, tucking stray strands of her hair behind her ear.