Morning light slipped between the blinds in a faint, angled stripe, catching on the uneven ceiling plaster. Beside me, James lay still, the solid weight of his arm looped over my waist like it had been there all night, warm and certain.
I didn't move at first. I just let the rhythm of his breathing press against my back, slower and heavier than I'd heard it in weeks. That calm steadied something in me I hadn't realized was shaking.
When he stirred, his hand flexed at my hip, fingertips pressing lightly through my shirt. The touch was nothing more than an idle shift, yet it rippled heat over my skin before my thoughts could catch it.
"You're awake," he murmured, voice low, worn by sleep.
"So are you."
His arm drew me in, closing the last inch of space between us. Breath warmed the side of my neck, each slow exhale brushing over my skin.
"I didn't think I'd want to stay," he said, so soft I almost missed it.
"But you did."
He didn't answer. His lips touched just below my ear, barely more than a graze, but enough to send a shiver winding through me. I caught his hand where it rested on my stomach, holding him there.
"I meant what I said last night," he went on, voice dipping even lower. "I don't want to stop."
Something loosened inside me. I turned until I faced him, the sheet sliding down, the air between us charged and thin.
His gaze traced my face, taking me in as though he meant to keep it. "Then don't," I told him.
The look in his eyes darkened. His hand slid from my waist to the curve of my hip, thumb brushing fabric until it edged upward to bare skin. His palm rested there, heat sinking deep.
He leaned in, mouth brushing mine slow enough to make me follow. When the kiss came, it was decisive, claiming, his fingers tightening at my hip to pull me flush against him. The sheet tangled at our legs, his knee hooking over mine to hold me still. His lips wandered from my mouth to my jaw and down the side of my neck, and I felt my breath catch.
"Tell me to stop," he said quietly.
I didn't. My hand slid under his shirt, finding the warmth and the hard lines of muscle. His shirt bunched under my fingers, soft with wear, smelling faintly of soap and smoke. I traced the breadth of his back, the warmth alive beneath my touch.
James's mouth was still at my neck, unhurried, drawing out every small reaction. He shifted, bringing me underneath him. Light broke over his shoulder, stripes crossing his jaw. His eyes searched mine, a silent question.
"You don't have to..." he began, but I pulled him down until there was no space left. The kiss deepened, his hands braced at either side of my head.
The sheet slid down, cool air brushing bare skin as his hand returned to my hip, then higher. My own hand traced his side, the steady rise and fall of his breathing giving way to something sharper.
His palm found the small of my back, drawing me up to meet him. His other hand skimmed along my thigh, coaxing me closer, his touch deliberate, lingering. My pulse was loud in my ears, his scent surrounding me. The world outside ceased to matter; there was only him.
Our breathing filled the space between us, low and uneven, matching the press and pull of his body over mine. My fingers curled into his shoulder, feeling the tension in him build, restrained but ready to break. He kissed me again, slower, a long draw of lips and breath.
His hand skimmed my side until his fingers found mine and tangled them together.
"Look at me," he said, quiet but steady.
I did, and the rest of the city might as well have been gone. His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, slow circles sending heat running up my arm. When he moved again, it wasn't rushed. Every inch was a choice, every touch a question he already knew the answer to. My breath caught, my pulse answering before I could.
His mouth found mine again, slower this time, the kind of kiss that drew the air from my lungs without force, just persistence. I felt his weight settle more fully over me, the warmth of his body pressing through every place we touched. My legs shifted, wrapping loosely around his hips, and his breath caught against my lips.
The sheet was no barrier now, barely hanging to one side as his hand traveled down, mapping the curve of my hip before skimming the inside of my thigh. Every inch of movement pulled heat up my spine. I reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it upward until my fingers met bare skin, warm and solid under my palms.
He broke the kiss just long enough to strip it over his head, his eyes never leaving mine. I traced the line from his collarbone down the flat of his stomach, feeling the faint flex of muscle under my touch. His hand caught my wrist briefly, not to stop me, but to hold me still long enough for his lips to find the hollow at my throat, his tongue brushing there before teeth grazed lightly.
I couldn't help the sound that left me, and he swallowed it with another kiss, deeper, his hand sliding between us. The pressure of his palm over the thin fabric I still wore made my hips move without thought. His thumb pressed lightly, circling, testing, and every pass drew me closer to the edge of speech.
"James…" My voice was a breath, but it broke something in him. His movements lost the last of their restraint, his touch firmer now, guiding me until the friction pulled soft gasps from my throat.
I pushed at his waistband, needing to feel more, and he shifted just enough to let me free him from the last barrier. The heat of him in my hand made my pulse thrum hard in my chest. His head dropped to my shoulder, breath warm against my skin as I stroked him, slow at first, matching the rhythm he kept between my thighs.
When he couldn't take it any longer, he pulled back just far enough to tug my shorts down and off, tossing them aside without care. The bare press of him against me made my whole body jolt. His hand caught the back of my knee, guiding my leg higher around his waist, opening me to him completely.
He pushed into me in one slow, steady motion, his eyes locked on mine the entire time. The stretch made my breath falter, my fingers digging into the muscle of his back. He stilled for a moment, letting me adjust, the weight of him inside me as steady as his hand against my hip.
When he began to move, it was with a rhythm that felt like it had been waiting for weeks to break free, measured, deep, and unrelenting. Each thrust drove the air from my lungs, but I clung to him, pulling him closer, needing the press of his chest against mine as much as the heat curling low in my stomach.
He kissed me again, messy now, his breath ragged against my mouth. My nails scraped lightly down his back, and the sound he made in return sent another wave through me. I matched him, every movement, every shift of his hips, until the space between us was nothing but heat and the low sounds we made in each other's mouths.
The world outside the room didn't exist. There was only the slick slide of skin, the grip of his hands, and the pull toward something we couldn't slow down even if we wanted to.
He held me there afterward, his breath still uneven, forehead pressed to mine. My pulse was still high, but the space between beats felt slower now, the air thicker with the warmth we'd left on the sheets. His thumb brushed along my jaw before he kissed me again, slower this time, not out of restraint, but out of something that felt dangerously close to tenderness.