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Creed
Creed’s eyes opened and he saw the dawning sun but felt Sylvie in his arms, in his bed, in his home.
He pulled in a deep breath, his chest expanding, pressing into his woman’s soft skin, soft body and he let that cut through him, leaving beauty in its wake.
Taking long moments of quiet, alone in the weak light of dawn, holding his Sylvie, finally, his eyes moved to the alarm clock on his nightstand.
Then he shifted carefully, moving slightly away to stare down at her. Her thick, long hair a tangle on his pillow, her profile relaxed in sleep.
Creed watched her.
Since having her back, this was not the first time he’d done this. In fact, he did it every day.
Every single day.
Because lying beside a still asleep Sylvie, he had her back. His little, sweet, funny, loving Sylvie who had no idea how beautiful she was. His Sylvie who had hope and love written all over her face. There she was, asleep right beside him. Those sharp edges sheathed, she was all soft, all beauty, all the memory of his Sylvie.
She told him that the old Sylvie was gone. He didn’t tell her she was wrong and he’d never tell her. He had the new Sylvie and, in these moments before her eyes opened and the day started, he had the old one too.
And down the hall, his kids slept in his house on a hill far away from f**king Kentucky and the memories buried there.
Therefore, Creed had it all.
Everything.
He lifted a hand to cup her cheek then slid her hair away from her face. He watched her features shift, her eyes flutter. She moved to her back, he saw the green gemstone twinkle at her neck and he felt the beauty of that in his gut.
“Is it time to get up already?” she asked, her voice soft and husky with sleep.
Creed shifted his fingers through her hair, pulling it down her chest then he curved his hand around her ribs under her breast as he nodded.
“Damn,” she muttered, arching her back in a little stretch.
He glided his hand up between her br**sts, up her chest to the chain at her neck where he stopped and twisted it around his forefinger.
“You did it again,” he murmured and she blinked.
“Did what?” she asked.
“Wakin’ up beside me, in my bed, in my house, you did it again.” When her brows drew together he finished, “My Sylvie, the dreamweaver, makin’ dreams come true.”
Her face went soft, hope and happiness flashed in her eyes and there he had it again. In those moments, he had her back. His Sylvie, both of them, right there in his bed.
Yes, he had it all.
Everything.
Or he would when he had her mouth.
So he went about taking it, dipping his head even as he tugged gently on the chain to pull her to him.
Sylvie lifted up and met him halfway and there it was.
Tucker Creed had everything.
Absolutely everything.