Two hours later, I was still in Maeve's bed, still naked, and still absolutely refusing to move.
The room was dim now—night creeping in through the curtains, painting the walls in soft purple shadows. Maeve's sheets were a mess. My hair was a mess. Maeve was… unfairly perfect considering what we'd just done.
And I?
I was wrapped around her like a very stubborn koala.
Her arm was under my neck, her other hand resting lazily on my hip, tracing slow circles that made my brain go soft and quiet. My leg was thrown over hers. Our bodies were pressed together like magnets that refused to be separated.
I could feel her heartbeat under my cheek: steady, warm, grounding.
Honestly, I felt like I had melted into her. If I died right now, I would be smiling.
"I should go," I whispered.
It was a lie.
Maeve hummed, low and sleepy, brushing her nose against my forehead. "You've been saying that for an hour."
"I meant it the first time," I said weakly.
"Mm. Did you?"
…No. I did not.
