Ink

Chapter Nine

I woke up with my head resting on his chest, his arm curling me against him, the morning had that quiet stillness that only bleeds into the early hours of a day. You know the kind, where it's fresh and everything's just so more deep and visceral, and you can almost believe that you're just instinct and nothing else?

I love the early hours of the morning – even on the days where I don't wake up curled into Stix's big, hard body with the quiver of arousal shimmering over me. I was still sore – dark, angry bruises littered my stomach and my ribs – and no doubt my face was not looking much better, either, but the heat of him, the scent of him, it was enough to cancel out the throbbing aches and pains, and turn me into a living, breathing hormone instead.

I was breathless with the intensity of it as I let my hungry eyes roam him unabashedly.

He was still sleeping – his long lashes layering over the sharp, chiselled cheekbones that seemed somehow softer in sleep. As he dreamt, Stix didn't have that same burning intensity, but he looked so much like his younger self that I could almost believe that the last three years had been nothing more than a daydream. His body, though, belied the truth, I lazily ran my fingers over the taut flesh – his chest and abs so much more defined than when he was eighteen – he was so cut that his body looked as though it had been chiselled into the fibres underneath his skin. My heart was beating against my chest like a panicked butterfly, but I didn't know if I'd ever get to explore him like this again, so I let my hands wander over the smooth texture of his bronzed skin, and enjoy the minute clenches of the muscles as my fingers trailed him. Stix was completely hairless – not that stubbly, irritated, hairless – but smooth and sleek against my skin.

Perfect.

When I reached the waistband of his briefs, though, my hands stilled, he'd kept them on last night – one fragile barrier between our otherwise naked bodies. It was one thing to drift over his chest, but stripping him was entirely different altogether, wasn't it? What if he really didn't feel that way about me? He'd said I felt like home – what did that even mean? Just because we were both naked – or I was, and he was as near as dammit – it didn't mean that I should take liberties like that, did it?

I was so deep in my conflict with my subconscious that I never noticed that he was holding his breath softly, like he didn't want to disturb me, and I flinched away from him as I looked into his face – his heavy-lidded gaze watching me with blatant desire – but he grasped my hand quickly, bringing it back to his stomach, linking our fingers over his skin.

"Don't stop," he was whispering at me, closing his eyes as though he was almost in pain, "Please, don't stop."

"What do you want me to do?" I panicked suddenly, because touching him while he was asleep, well that was for me – if it was for him then I just didn't have a clue what I was doing! Stix was used to beautiful women ... women like her from the night before – fuck, was it only the night before? Women who could probably tie cherry stalks with their tongues and really spectacular shit between the sheets – I'd tried that thing with a cherry once, when I was bored and stuck on a Manga design – I'd damn near turned blue choking on it!

We just weren't in the same league, Stix and I, not when it came to this shit. The one time I'd tried to have sex, I'd almost had a nervous breakdown with the guy as he was rolling on a condom, because he wasn't Stix. Turns out, guys don't like to fuck a girl that's blubbering her eyes out while he's trying to stick it in.

"I just want you to not stop that," he stroked my hair behind my ear, cupping my cheek, "It's not because I want to fuck you, I don't know maybe it is, but I just want to feel you. I want to enjoy waking up next to you, and feeling your hands on me, even if you hate me for it later, fuck it I'll take it. Just let me have this."