Eternal Adoration [ON PAUSE]

18. When Control Slips Through His Fingers

SERAPHINA

When I wake up this time, it doesn't happen suddenly, instead, it is a gradual process. A slow, dream-like state, my eyes fluttering open and the cool air from the air conditioner brushing my skin.

I move to stretch my limbs, but the heavy blanket makes it impossible to move my arms out from my sides, and when I attempt to extend my legs, the same problem arises. I frown, blinking slowly to open my eyes, expecting the sun to fall gently across my face as it usually does.

Instead, I'm greeting with skin. So. Much. Skin.

"What the hell?" I whisper groggily, my widened eyes sliding down his body.       

Tanned, muscled, and meant to be touched. The chest in front of me is one that I'm familiar with in a way that still feels foreign. Like that neighbor who you've seen walking around and driving down the street but still don't know the name of. That's what Arisitide's chest feels like to me.

I gulp, though I don't dare to move a muscle. Not that I can even move anything, given that what must be Aristide's arm is wrapped around mine, constricting everything below my neck.

How did I get here? I try to crack my brain to remember how I could have journeyed from the couch in the living room to a bed that is not mine. The last thing I remember is laughing at something on the screen, a character saying something funny, I think, and laughing even harder at the blank Aristide made.

"Think, Sera. Think."

The warmth from his body makes it quite difficult to think clearly, and I have to force myself not to be convinced that leaning over and placing my lips against his skin is a good idea, and yet, nothing comes to mind.

I must have fallen asleep, I realize. Then . . . what? Aristide carried me to his room and set me down on his bed? Then, as we were sleeping, he somehow wrapped his arms around me, binding me to himself?

I frown. Nope, it can't be. There has to be another explanation. Something that makes more sense. I haven't sleepwalked since I lived with my grandma when I could let myself relax, but I suppose that could have happened. I could have snaked out of my bed, walked down the hall, and clambered up Aristide's bed.

And then . . . then his arms and legs could have wrapped around me. Instinctively, of course. 

"I can hear that mind of yours working a mile a minute."

I freeze but my eyes snap to him. His eyes are closed, but he must be awake because the grumbly, deep words that just left his lips were not a figment of my imagination. I heard them loud and clear.

"Stop shuffling and go back to sleep, Seraphina."

As if I wasn't shaken to my core already, his arms, his strong, big arms wrap tighter around my waist. I gasp when he pulls me closer to his warm body, my heart thumping away while my brain shortcircuits.

"Uh . . . uh."

He doesn't even open his eyes, but he grumbles, "Sleep," and settles us until all I can see is his naked chest and the beginnings of his arm tattoos underneath the sheets.

For a moment, I don't know what to do, so I keep blinking and breathing deeply, contemplating my next moves. The hair on his chest is dark and fine, like the hair on his head but shorter and breakable. My eyes trace the lines they make as if by looking at them, I can get an answer to this predicament.

Alas, the hair does nothing to unpack this situation for me. If anything, I'm even more hot and bothered now. Who knew chest hair could be so erotic? Or maybe, it has a little something to do with his hand on my lower back, only a few inches from the curve of my ass. Or maybe, it's because his body surrounds me and for the first time in my life, I woke up greeted by a sense of safety.