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Before you even open your eyes, you notice how warm and secure you feel. Nathan's body presses against your back, his right arm drapes across your waist, his knee wedged between your thighs. His face is close to the crook of your neck and his exhales kiss your skin.
You and Nathan never sleep like this. Spooning during a short nap is nice, but anything longer than an hour leads to stiffness. You and Nathan always end up finding your separate sides of the mattress, facing away from each other.
Careful not to disturb Nathan, you lift the satin sleep mask off your face and look around the bedroom. The windows in front of you show a lightening sky, but the sun has yet to rise and stream through the blinds. You reach over to check the time on your phone—5:23 A.M. Nathan set an alarm for 6:30 this morning because he has to catch a flight to Marseille to then fly a jet to Buenos Aires. He’ll be gone for a few days. Maybe that’s why he clings onto you now.
Nathan stirs somewhat, and you freeze in place, holding your breath. He burrows his face further into your neck, and his arm shifts somewhat around you. A few seconds of silence pass, and you ease back into his body, but something seems different now. You can feel it in how he breathes now, deeper than when he’s asleep. His hold on you feels more intentional now, like he’s actually holding you rather than a weight that anchors you to him.
And, of course, there’s how his palm now cups your breast through your pajama shirt.
His grasp is gentle, as if he’s trying not to wake you up, but he’s not wholly subtle, either. Your nipple hardens from his touch and sends a jolt of electricity down your spine and into your lower abdomen.
Your lips curl into a smile even though he can’t see it, and a thought flashes through your head. Two can play at this game, so you push your ass further against his lap. You can feel the imprint of his cock against you, and it makes you hum and shift your hips once more.
“What’re you doing?” he murmurs into your ear, his voice a little groggy from the morning.
“You started it,” you whisper.
Nathan chuffs a smirk and snakes his hand underneath the thin fabric of your pajama shirt and back to your breast, this time uninhibited. The knee between your thighs ruts against you, slow but deliberate.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
It’s nice, but you want more. You guide his hand—slipping underneath the elastic waistband of your pajama pants and panties—to your apex, where he immediately obliges and rubs two fingers against it. You hitch a breath and hook your right leg over his to give him more room, savoring every second of his touch because you know you’ll miss it when he’s gone.
“How’s this?” he implores once more right into your ear. He’s never left you unsatisfied. He likes taking care of you—always clamoring for your approval and goading you into telling him how it feels. Always sweet. Always intoxicating.
Right now is no different. “Good,” you moan, “you’re so good.”
You turn your head so your lips meet his, but not quite at the center. He dips one finger down into your warm slickness, and you moan into his mouth when he slides the second finger down. “And this?” he whispers.
“I…I think you know,” you reply.
You try kissing him again, but he jerks his head away. “Tell me,” he says.
You whimper as his fingers work you and his thumb presses against your clit this time. He shifts back somewhat to use his other hand to yank your bottoms away, exposing your bare ass and legs.
“It’s good,” you whisper.
“What’s that?”
“You’re so good,” you repeat breathlessly.
“You love me, right?” he asks. Before you can even respond, he starts counting down. “Ten, nine, eight—”
“Yes,” you pant. “I love you. You’re amazing.”
“Can I fuck you?”
You nod.
“I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” you let out in a choked breath. “Fuck me, please.”
You try shifting onto your back to collect yourself in his arms, but Nathan stops you. “No, stay like this.”
You wait a few cold seconds for Nathan to slide off his boxers and line up his length to your entrance. It takes a couple tries to find the position that works best for the both of you but he slides in effortlessly because you’re so wet and warm from earlier. You gasp from the fill and stretch of him, your nerves burning in a sweet flame.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you murmur. “You just feel really good.”
Each thrust from Nathan sends waves of pleasure over your body, right to your fingertips and toes. They’re rhythmic and slow but deliberate, and his fingers find purchase at your apex once again to draw lazy circles. Neither of you are looking to chase the high of climax. You’re both enjoying the quiet time together, relishing each other in a world no bigger than this mattress or this room.
“Tell me you love me,” he demands once more. “Ten—”
“I love you,” you moan.
Your back arches when his pace increases into something a little harder, but still tender. Your own hips buck back into his lap, almost an involuntary action, as if you can get him to fill you even more than he already does.
Nathan buries his face into your hair, kisses the expanse of your neck and the exposed bit leading to your shoulder. You’re tethered together, enjoying every second you can because in a few hours, he’ll be gone and you’ll be alone. Don’t go, stay here with me, don’t go, I love you, you almost beg, but you’re coherent enough to not say it out loud. Instead, you murmur, “You’re incredible,” your voice hoarse and low enough that he might not have heard it underneath the rustling of sheets and the slap of skin against skin.
But he does, and he leans forward to whisper into your hair, “You’re beautiful.” Then you feel the dip of the mattress right behind you as he props himself up on his forearm and uses the arm wrapped around you to possessively pull you even closer, more firmly, into him. You didn’t think he could go any deeper, but he does, somehow, driving needfully into you, his fingertips furiously rubbing against you.
You’re standing right at the precipice now, about to jump off any second. You don’t know when it’ll happen, but when it does—
You’re in freefall. Gone are the hushed, whispered voices from before. Your cry is loud, guttural, unfiltered. Nathan keeps thrusting into you, faster than before but no longer in a specific rhythm, until he slows down and collapses onto the bed behind you.
Both spent, you turn around in his arms and face him for the first time that morning. Moisture seeps out of you and drips onto the sheets, but you couldn’t care less about that right now. Nathan stares at you with his dark eyes and his dopey, endearing smile. You kiss the tip of his nose and thread your fingers through his hair.
“What time is it?” he asks.
“It was just before five-thirty when I woke up,” you reply.
He doesn’t say it, but you know what he’s thinking. You read it in his eyes and feel it in his touch. How much time can he spend here with you, in this perfect liminal space, before reality officially wakes him up and separates you two for a few days?
“Are you sure that was—”
You interrupt him with a light kiss, hoping that will be enough of an answer. He always has his doubts, and you always reassure him. He takes your jaw into his hand and delicately swipes his thumb over your cheek. Neither of you dare look at your phones or watches for the time. As far as you’re concerned, you have all the time in the world.