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“It’s only the truth.”
I kiss her lazily, sloppily, as we come down from the high. I simply enjoy the taste of her and the fact that she’shere.
I might not have any control over what happens outside of this bubble, but it’s enough. She’s enough.
We eventually find our way to the pillows at the head of the bed, but we don’t sleep. In between talking, laughing, and cuddling, I find myself buried inside of her more than once before we’re completely spent and our bodies beg for rest.
“There goes any chance of my night routine,” I hear her mumble sleepily.
“What?” I ask, glancing at her. Her eyes are closed, and her chest moves with every sated breath. She’s awake enough to smile sweetly at me.
“Nothing. Good night, Miles.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
34
Miles
Iwake the beautiful woman in my bed by pressing kisses to her shoulder and along her neck. She hums at the realization, and it makes me want to rip off her clothes again. As if I’m not sleep deprived from my inability to stop touching her last night.
Not that it matters. I’d give up sleeping all together for her.
“Why?” she groans. “I’m tired.”
I laugh softly, not enough to agitate her sleepy state. “Freddy wants to go on a walk.” Emphasizing my words is the sound of his paws at my bedroom door. “Come with us?”
She peers at me through her squinted eyes. “But it’s cold.”
“Yeah it is.”
“I didn’t bring the right clothes.”
“I have clothes you can wear.”
Her eyes stay squinted as she scoots into a sitting position, giving me a better look at her messy hair against my tan pillowcase. It’s the best sight I’ve seen this early in the day while still in my own bed. I wish I could see it every day.
“I’m gonna need coffee,” she grumbles. I press a kiss to her forehead, loving this tired and grumpy version of the Autumn I love so much already.
Because yeah. I do.
“One hot coffee coming right up.”
It takes me less than three minutes to have a travel mug in her hands, and be sifting through my closet for something she can bundle up in. It’s not the hardest thing I’ve done, considering everything I own would be oversized on her. I get back to her with a sweatshirt, sweatpants, a puffy jacket, a scarf, and a pair of long socks. She looks terrified by the pile in my arms and it pulls a laugh out of me.
“No chance of you being cold with all of this on.”
When she grabs everything from me, she studies the jacket like there's something fascinating about it. Before I can ask, she faces me.
"I have this same one, believe it or not."
Of course I believe it, I remember everything I gave her six years ago.
"It's my favorite," I explain.
Then I see the flash of realization on her face.
"Wait, you gave me yourfavoritejacket? Why would you do that?"
