Touch me Not

Epilogue

Threads of sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a yellow glow on the far wall littered with pinned photographs. Some of them featured the two of us smiling, laughing, kissing, holding hands—happiness caught by a camera, fleeting moments forever captured. They showed precious moments that we had shared together during these last few months.

I let one of my hands escape the heat beneath the cover and rubbed my eyes, eager to start the day but reluctant to get out of bed. Cameron blew hot, regular puffs of air against my neck, which made it next to impossible to move.

Carefully, I turned in his arms and simply watched my boyfriend. He had the softest expression when he slept. His lips full and inviting, the crease between his brows smoothed out, his long lashes still enough to be studied—he was perfection.

He was my light, almost brighter than the sun. Of course, I would never dream of saying something so cheesy to his face, but I could think it.

The alarm began to sing behind me. Cameron stirred, forcing his eyelids apart with great difficulty, it seemed.

"Good morning," I said, touching his lips with mine.

"Mornin'." He yawned and placed an arm around my back.

Lazy snuggling followed. Hands touching skin, lips seeking contact.

"How much time do we have?" he asked.

"About an hour or so."

"Bad planning."

"Bad planning? You set the alarm. Remember?"

"Yeah, I know. Should have given us an extra hour."

"Why?"

He kissed me, pushed my right shoulder until my back hit the mattress, and took his spot on top. "Because you're too damn tempting." He nibbled my lower lip, knowing exactly how to tease me into surrender.

"Bad planning, you said?" I tried to rein us both in before we got too far. We didn't have time for morning sex, no matter how much we wanted to explore each other all over again.

He groaned and fell against my chest, almost driving the air out of my lungs. "You might have to make it up to me."

"Again. You set the alarm. This is not...I repeat, not my fault."

Chuckles traveled between us, soft rumbles that warmed me from within. I loved it when he laughed. It was an odd kind of validation, but an important one. His smiles revealed that I made him happy, and that boosted my confidence like nothing else.

"You make us breakfast, and we're even."

I squirmed beneath him, trying to reach freedom. "Still not my fault. You're not framing me for this. I object."

"What happens if I don't listen?" he asked before gently biting my ear lobe.

"I'll force you to sleep on the couch."

He snorted, well aware that I would have a hard time keeping him out of his own bed. "We'll see about that."

As soon as he let me go, I rose and tried to forget that he was staring at me from behind. Even after months sleeping in the same bed, I still felt slightly awkward walking around buck naked in front of him. Distance made it worse. Distance made me embarrassed. The farther away he was, the worse it became. Of course, it wasn't a bad feeling.

I stole one of his large shirts from the wardrobe and grinned at his reaction. He had this ambivalent relationship with my habit of stealing his clothes—part happy and part annoyed because I gave him extra laundry.