If Only (GxG)

Chapter 48 Museums & Dreams

A/N
🎶Ordinary by Alex Warren🎶

『 °*• ❀ •*°』
Blake's POV

Morning slips into the room with the hush of reverence, as if it knows better than to interrupt.

The sunlight is soft and golden, pooling across the sheets in lazy warmth. But the first thing I register isn't the light. It's her.

Alison.

All sleep-creased skin and feather-soft breath, curled into me. Her leg is slotted between mine, her back pressed flush to my chest, and my arm is wrapped tightly around her waist, hand resting possessively over her stomach. My face is tucked against her neck, buried in the warm mess of her hair, and I inhale without thinking.

It's standard procedure by now.

She shifts—just a gentle stretch—but then she tries to move. Slowly. Subtly. As if I won't notice.

I do.

My arm tightens with instinctive precision, dragging her right back where she belongs. My leg hooks higher around hers. I press a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of her shoulder.

She lets out a soft, breathless sound somewhere between a laugh and a grumble. "Blake..."

"Yes, Tereso?"

"Must you always lock me down like some Victorian fainting bride?"

"I must," I murmur against her skin. "It's contractual."

"I don't remember signing a contract. I was just stretching."

She huffs, half-hearted in her protest, and melts right back into me. "I've woken up in every version of your cuddle-death-grip at this point," she mumbles, voice thick with sleep. "At this rate, I'd be concerned if I didn't."

I smirk, utterly unrepentant. "You say that like you don't secretly adore it."

"No one's ever wrapped me up in their arms like you do," she says, quieter now. "You know when we first met I thought you'd be... I don't know. Brooding and emotionally distant. Instead, you're a very expensive weighted blanket."

"An elegant blanket," I correct. "Let's not be vulgar."

She snorts. "You're lucky you're hot."

I kiss her neck again, my voice dropping into something low and fond. "Doesn't matter. I wouldn't let go either way."

She sighs—long-suffering and sweet—and trails her fingers along my forearm, where it's wrapped tight around her. She doesn't pull away. If anything, she leans back into me like she's settling into her favourite place. Because she is.

"You're clingier than I am," she murmurs.

"I know," I say simply. "And I take great pride in it."

There's a pause—soft, warm silence wrapping around us like a second blanket.

Then, very faintly, Alison's stomach growls. Loudly.

She freezes.

I stifle a laugh into her hair. "Charming."

"Shut up," she mutters, already burying her face in my neck. "Don't bully me, I'm fragile."

"Oh no, Tereso. You're not fragile. You're just a dramatic, growing girl."

She groans. "Why do you always feel the need to bully me?"

"Because it's deeply satisfying and you're adorable when you pout."