He moved his arm, muscles flexing as his hand fanned out over the sheets and stopped at the unclaimed pillow beside his head. His brows came down, a deep furrow replacing the softer lines of peaceful sleep. After a moment his hand drifted higher, fingers curling around his own pillow, and he relaxed back into unconsciousness.

I left the door ajar so there was enough light to make the trip to the bed. The sheets were cool as I slipped between them, sinking into the mattress. I was beyond wiped.

I was under no delusion that the exhaustion wasn’t going to get worse when I started my internship. I’d heard horror stories from some of the other people in my program. How they were given projects to develop or manage outside of work hours that kept them up all night. I didn’t get much sleep as it was. The possibility that I might get even less in the coming months worried me.

I sighed as my head hit the pillow, easing into the comfort of Chris’s bed. As soon as I pulled the sheets up, he rolled onto his side. His arm came over me, pulling me closer. His hand moved down, along my thigh until he reached the hem of the shirt and hit bare skin. And then it was a case of under and up, his wide palm flattened against my stomach. He curled around my body, knees pushing into mine, his chest against my back.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said softly.

I felt his nose as he burrowed through my hair, warm breath against my neck, finally replaced by his lips.

“S’okay,” he replied in a sleep-heavy voice. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too.” I put my hand over his and laced our fingers, pulling his arm farther around me.

Soft kisses brushed along my neck, shoving down the exhaustion and waking up the part of me I turned off as a protective measure every time I went to work. It was difficult to compartmentalize the constant attention of The Sanctuary’s clientele. Occasionally, a little voice in the back of my mind reminded me that Chris had been among them at The Dollhouse. But he hadn’t fit the typical profile.

He’d never tried to touch me when I worked, never made a crass comment. He’d been the pinnacle of politeness. Sure, he’d been flirtatious and persistent, telling me I was beautiful, asking me out for coffee, but that was as far as it went. He always looked me in the eye when I waited on his table, instead of at my chest or whatever other skin was exposed. I hadn’t known how to take him at first.

“You have an okay night?” Chris asked.

“It wasn’t bad.”

He stopped nuzzling my neck and his body stiffened. I hoped he hadn’t read anything into the noncommittal answer. “Anyone put their hands on you?”

“No, baby.” Not tonight, anyway.

It was the main reason I’d been able to come to his place. I couldn’t face him after the nights with unasked-for physical contact. He was too good at calling out my lies. So when something happened that I didn’t want to tell him about, I avoided his texts and waited until the next day to get back to him. Beyond that, I couldn’t manage his affection on those nights, even if it was wanted. The internal conflict was too much to handle. As if I’d been cheating on him, even though I wasn’t. I couldn’t stand it.

His body relaxed again and I felt his cheek against my neck. He’d shaved tonight. For me. It made me feel good and bad. I knew he didn’t expect anything. He’d be just as happy to snuggle and fall right back to sleep until I gave him the go ahead for something more.

It had been too long since we’d been together. I missed the physical release almost as much as I missed his bed, his arms, and his gentle way. I turned over to face him, the thin slice of light from the hall just enough to make out his shadowy features. Sliding a hand up his bare chest, my palm came to rest at the nape of his neck.

“Wanna make out?” he asked huskily.

“Mm. I’d like that.”

“Cool.”

I grinned in the darkness and waited for his mouth. Except it didn’t come. The hand on my waist disappeared. I inhaled sharply at the slow glide of his fingers along my arm. When they reached my neck, he pushed my damp hair back, tucking it behind my ear. I closed my eyes on a deep exhale. There was such intimacy in the way he traced the contours of my face, it made it difficult to meet his gaze. I could feel his eyes on me, though. When his fingers touched my lips, I let them part. The pad of his thumb swept along the bottom one.

“Sarah,” he whispered.

I opened my eyes as I sucked his thumb into my mouth. His face was a picture of masculine desire. Eyes hooded and intense, lips parted. I bit down, licking at the pad, watching the muscle under his right eye twitch. His thumb disappeared, replaced by his mouth. His lips were velvet soft.

His tongue met mine in a languid rhythm. It became almost maddening, the longer it went on, and then he took my lower lip between his, dragging his teeth across it. He wouldn’t take it any farther. He was waiting for the “green light,” as he called it. Early on, I’d realized that if we were ever going to get to the next level, as in get naked, I would have to be the one to initiate it. That hadn’t changed over the last several months.

I pushed through the sheets until I was pressed up against him, hoping that would make clear what I wanted. If he clued in, it didn’t register in the kiss. He just kept up that same slow, drugging rhythm. I dug my fingernails into the back of his neck and pressed my hips into his, desperate for more. I could feel him through his boxers, huge and hard and ready, just like the rest of him.

He pulled back. “What’s going on, baby?”

I didn’t like that he wasn’t all up on me anymore, or kissing me. “Why aren’t you touching me?”

“I am touching you.” His thumb brushed back and forth over my cheek and he kissed the end of my nose.

“Not where I want.” I abandoned the back of his neck and snuck a hand between us, palming his erection through his boxers.

“Huh.” He looked vaguely amused. “That’s weird, ’cause you’re touching me right where I want.”

I squeezed. The teasing smile fell and his lip curled into the approximation of a snarl. He grabbed my hand and in a quick move rolled over on top of me. I spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist before he had a chance to stop me.

“I like this even better.” He laced our fingers together and kissed the back of my hand.

When I tried to grab his ass with the other one, he snatched it up as well. On the positive side, it meant his pelvis was in line with mine.

“You should take my shirt off,” I suggested sweetly.

“You think? But then your hands will be free; and who knows what will happen then, what with my magnetic cock and all.” When I huffed, he laughed and then grew serious. “It’s been more than two weeks, Sarah. I have no plans to make this end quickly. I’d rather take my sweet time getting where you want me, if it’s all the same to you.”

“If you’d take your damn boxers off, you’d be exactly where I want you.”

“Oh? So that’s what your problem is?”

He gathered my wrists in one hand, his hold gentle. I could slip free if I wanted. Then he shoved his boxers down and repositioned himself so that hard length rested right where I needed it. He circled his hips, giving me what I craved.

I met his hot stare. “I want to put my hands on you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he released them. Grabbing the hem of my shirt I drew it over my head, then I ran my palms down the solid expanse of his back, stopping at his ass. Pushing down hard, I shifted under him. His erection slid low, close but not quite there.

“I’m not getting in you yet,” he said.

“Please, Chris. I miss you. I just want you.” Usually when I said that kind of thing, in that pleading tone, he folded instantly.

Not this time.

His head dropped and I felt his lips against my shoulder. They parted and the sharp sting of his teeth told me he was fighting the plea. There was something in the heavy weight of his body and the tightness in his muscles that warned me not to push tonight. I stopped resisting and relaxed, absorbing his weight.