~Sky~
I woke up before the sun even bothered showing its face, body all loose and stupidly satisfied like I'd been hit with a truck full of really good sex. Dan was still out cold next to me, face smashed into the pillow, one arm flung across my stomach like he owned the damn thing. His mouth was half-open, snoring these tiny little wheezy puffs that should've been annoying but somehow weren't. The asshole looked almost soft like this, all the hard edges gone, hair a disaster sticking up everywhere, stubble dark against his throat. I just... stared. Couldn't help it.
My hand moved before my brain caught up, fingers brushing over his jaw, feeling the scratch of it, then sliding up into his hair. I tugged a little, just to see if he'd grumble, and he did this low, sleepy rumble in his chest that vibrated right into my ribs. God, that sound. I did it again, slower, petting him like he was some giant cat who'd wandered into my life and decided to stay. My thumb traced the line of his eyebrow, down the bridge of his nose, over the stupid perfect curve of his lip. He huffed, turned his face into my palm without opening his eyes, and pressed a lazy kiss there.
"Mmm," he mumbled, voice wrecked. "Keep doin' that."
I snorted, quiet. "You're drooling on my wrist, you animal."
"Liar," he slurred, eyes still closed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "You like it."
"Shut up." My fingers kept moving anyway, sliding down his neck, over the collarbone I'd left a mark on last night faint purple bloom right where I'd sucked too hard when he was knot-deep and I was losing my mind. I pressed my thumb there, gently, feeling the heat under the skin. He sighed, long and happy, shifted closer until his leg hooked over mine.
"Feels nice," he muttered. "Don't stop."
I rolled my eyes even though he couldn't see it. "You're so easy when you're half-dead."
"Only for you, baby."
That word again. Baby. It was different in the morning, quiet, softer, less desperate than last night when he'd growled it while pushing in slowly and carefully. My stomach did this embarrassing flip.
I leaned down, kissed the spot right under his ear, soft, barely there. He hummed, hand sliding up my back, lazy circles. "You smell so much like me," he said, nose brushing my throat. "That's good."
"Yeah, well, you smell like cheap whiskey."
He chuckled, low and rough. "Tell me about it."
I didn't answer. Just kept touching him, chest, ribs, the dip of his waist, the stupid happy trail that disappeared under the sheet. My fingers followed it, curious, until he caught my wrist, eyes finally cracking open, sleepy and dark.
"Careful," he warned, voice still thick. "You start that and we're not getting out of this bed."
I smirked. "Who said I wanted to?"
He groaned, pulled me down on top of him, arms locking around me like he was never letting go. "You're gonna kill me, you know that?"
"It's a happy death at least?."
We stayed like that for a while, him half-asleep, me tracing patterns on his skin, listening to his heartbeat slow and steady under my ear. It was stupidly peaceful. Too peaceful. The kind of quiet that makes you realize how loud everything else is gonna get when it ends.
Eventually he stretched, yawned so wide I thought his jaw would crack, then kissed the top of my head. "Coffee," he announced like it was a royal decree. "And food. Shower. Work. In that order. Maybe."
I laughed despite myself. "Priorities."
"Damn right."
He rolled out of bed, naked and shameless, scratched his stomach, and shuffled toward the bathroom. I watched his ass the whole way broad shoulders, narrow waist, those stupid powerful thighs. Mine now, maybe. The thought made my chest tight in a way I didn't want to examine.
I waited until the shower started, then dragged myself up too. My legs felt like jelly, ass sore in the best-worst way, every step reminding me exactly how thoroughly he'd wrecked me. Worth it. Totally worth it.
I cracked eggs, fried bacon, toasted bread, even sliced the tomatoes like I gave a shit about presentation. Coffee brewing. Smelled like home in a way my own shitty apartment never did.
By the time he came out hair wet, towel around his hips, smelling like shampoo I had plates ready. Scrambled eggs, bacon crispy the way he liked it (I'd noticed, sue me), toast, coffee black and strong.
He stopped in the doorway, blinked at the spread like he'd walked into the wrong house.
"You... cooked?"
I shrugged, suddenly awkward. "Figured you'd need it after last night. You were a mess."
He laughed, surprised. "I was a mess? "
"Shut up." I shoved a plate at him. "Eat before it gets cold."
He sat, still grinning, took a bite, groaned like I'd just sucked him off again. "Fuck, Sky. Marry me."
I choked on my coffee. "Don't even joke about that."
"Not joking." He pointed his fork at me. "This is wife-level breakfast. I'm keeping you."
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw stars. "Eat your food, idiot."
We ate in a comfortable quiet for a minute, him stealing bacon off my plate, me kicking him under the table. Normal. Easy. Like we'd done this a hundred times.
Then he leaned back, wiped his mouth, looked at me with this soft, dopey smile. "Last night was... intense."
I nodded, waiting for the rest.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't usually drink that much. Sorry if I got... pushy or whatever."
My fork froze halfway to my mouth.
Pushy?
I set it down slowly. "Pushy."
"Yeah." He winced. "I mean, the whiskey hit hard, and with everything you…. , the case I wasn't exactly thinking straight. If I crossed any lines. "
I stared at him.
He kept going, oblivious.
"You don't remember."
He blinked. "What?"
"You don't fucking remember."
He frowned, confused. "Remember what?"
*You don't remember any of that?"
He went still. Eyes widening slowly, horror creeping in.
"Fuck," he whispered. "I... pieces. Flashes. Did I fuck up? "