neck, dewy with the sweat of his exertion, and that did it; that was all it took. He groaned and stilled above her, grateful for her arms around him, grateful for the way she held him tight as he came apart. It was better, more intense, more complete than seeing stars; it was like becoming them, cut-up pieces of him scattered to the night. He said her name, once and then again, because nothing else would come to him, no other thought or feeling available. No pressure, no practicality, no responsibility. Nothing but Nora.
A perfect, unforgettable first.
Well, he didn’t see hell.
But he sure slept like the dead.
When he first woke, Nora was against him, not far from the spot she’d been in when she’d fallen asleep. Then, she’d tucked herself against his side, her head growing heavier against his shoulder and chest as she’d drifted off, the small muscles in her hands and feet occasionally twitching out whatever tension they’d held over the course of the day. Now, she’d shifted enough so that her head rested on his stomach, the smooth, straight strands of her hair draped across his bare chest, and without thinking he lifted a hand to them, stroking sleepily, barely conscious.
It wasn’t so unusual for Will to sleep hard, not after years of chaotic hospital schedules, long stretches of time where he wasn’t simply awake but also urgently awake, dealing-with-something-serious awake. A blank, consuming sleep after that wasn’t so much a pleasure as it was a necessity, his body simply giving out on him and going pitch dark with fatigue. But this waking up . . . this was different. Hesitant, when it almost always felt like he sat straight up; fuzzy, when he nearly always had the day’s schedule clear in his head. His eyes stayed closed and his mind stayed slow, not working through much of anything other than the soft tangles he found in Nora’s hair.
In fact it might have been that he . . . drifted off again? That seemed almost unreal, impossible, but the next thing he was aware of was Nora stirring against him, her soft cheek moving across his abdomen, her lips pressing into his skin before she half settled again, making a sleepy, frustrated noise.
“What time?” she mumbled, and he kept his eyes closed, still dozing, his lips curving.
“Dunno,” he said, or maybe just thought.
After a second her arm reached across him, her head coming up and her hair tickling across his skin. Well, one part of him was awake, at least. Nora slapped at the nightstand where she’d plugged in her phone last night, part of a routine—their one-after-the-other trips to the bathroom, their teasing arguments about which side of the bed he’d sleep on—that had felt, despite the first-time circumstances of it all, strangely normal.
When she lit up the screen he threw an arm over his eyes but then changed his mind when he realized he was missing an opportunity. He squinted one eye open, then the second, Nora’s profile lit in white-blue light, her face scrunched and sleepy and still goddamned sexy. He moved his hand, traced a finger along her spine.
“Four fifty-seven,” she said, setting the phone back down with a clatter before dropping her forehead to his skin. “Late.”
“No,” he protested lazily, stroking outward from her spine, running his fingertips up her side, over the curve formed by the side of her breast. “Early. Not even morning, really.”
She made a funny, disbelieving half snort but then shuddered when he stroked her again. Pretty much it was only his hands and his dick that were fully online, but he could work with that. She could work with that, if she’d only—
“Let me—” She broke off when he got his finger close to her nipple, then sighed, dropping her head to kiss his stomach again. “Let me run to the bathroom first.”
He laughed softly in satisfaction, knowing he had her, and when she slapped playfully at his chest as she climbed out of bed he caught her hand, pressing a kiss in the center of her palm. When she started to walk away he did a small, simple thing, a thing the sleepy part of his brain told him was most natural: he held on to her loosely, a move that was less about keeping her than it was about touching her right up until the last possible second, and she laughed, squeezing his fingers back before letting them trail lightly away from his.