Heterochromic Haze

11- Sunrise

My body feels heavy. Thats the first thing I know when I wake up the next morning.

The second thing I feel is sore, and the third thing I feel is hot.

Things come back a little clearer then, and I groan as I push my face further into the pillow beneath me. The heavy scent of Everett cloaks my sheets, my skin, and if I was having trouble recollecting our actions last night, which I wasn't, I sure wouldn't now.

Heated moments and pleasure so intense that I thought I'd die resurface but I don't let myself dwell. My shirt tugs awkwardly against my arms as I shift and I groan again.

No, what's really bothering me is that I couldn't resist.

I ignore the niggling in my chest, the thrumming reminder that now I've had him, it won't likely happen again. I tug against my hair ruthlessly. The sculpture. How would I ever finish it? Did I even want to finish it without him there?

Fingertips trail across my clothed back, causing a spasm to shoot through my spine and I look up quickly in panic, my eyes focusing on the mismatching eyes just inches from my own. The fear that had jolted through me dissipates immediately and I sigh in relief.

He doesn't seem bothered about our closeness, or the shirt that has remained on my back and I relax.

I take in the disarray of his hair, frowning when I realise that it looks so much better this way. Free, wild and sensual. A completely different image.

And the light stubble across his chin, barely there but changing his jaw line into that of a man I could only dream of being.

"It's way too early for you to be looking at me like that." He says quietly and I shake my head, a million thoughts jumbled in my brain like tangled balls of wool.

He stayed? He's here? He knows that I look at him like a starving man? Why does he shave when he can look like an actual greek god?

Wait.

"What time is it?" I ask croakily, my eyes wandering to the light seeping out from behind my curtains. I never close my curtains.

"Nine fifteen." He says, his voice heavenly as I continue trying to make the cogs in my head work just a little faster.

"In the morning?" I ask, glancing back at him in complete bewilderment.

"Are you always this confused when you wake up?" He asks, his lips twitching up in the corners.

I slump back against my pillows in disbelief.

"I don't sleep. I can't. I slept through the night?" I confirm, glancing at him to see him nod once.

His eyes narrow slightly, his lips pursing. His thumb brushes gently beneath my right eye.

"Maybe you should fuck me more often." I suggest and Everett laughs, but doesn't comment.

He sits up slowly and I feel myself pout when I notice he's got his boxers on. Then again, the rest of him is bare and it's plenty to keep me occupied.

"Stop." He says firmly and I raise an eyebrow, drawing my eyes from his thighs to meet his intense gaze as he looks over his shoulder.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like that. That's what got you into this mess in the first place." He murmurs, crawling forwards to press a kiss to my lips. It's firm, just like the rest of him, and leaves me breathless when he pulls away. I want him to kiss me all the time.

"I can't help it. I'm convinced you were sent to ruin me." I say, slumping back against the wall behind my bed. The plaster of the wall digs into my skull, reminding me I should really invest in a headboard.

He's quiet for a moment, shrugging his trousers on as his fingers nimbly fasten them.

"The feelings mutual." He says quietly, letting out a resigned sigh as he looks for his shirt.

I don't ask him to elaborate, too afraid of the turmoil of my own feelings to worry about his. It's like he breathes life into me.

He locates his shirt and I watch, my heart heavy in my chest, as he straightens it out. But to my surprise he hangs it carefully on the doorknob and settles himself in his chair.

He watches me expectantly and all of a sudden I jolt forwards, shoving my legs into a pair of boxers. I comb my fingers through my hair, my heart racing as I button up my shirt.

I tumble out my tools but hesitate for a moment.

I need to adjust him, to pose him and I bite my lip, remembering exactly what happened last time I did just that.

"I'll behave this time." Everett says, a coy smile playing on his lips as he reads my mind.

"You better." I say, pointing my ribbon tool at him.

I make my way over, my fingers delicately nudging him into the desired pose.

"It's normally me seducing my models into bed." I accuse teasingly, watching as he gives me an unimpressed look.

"Your first words to me were 'I'm good with my hands.'" He points out.

"And I am, aren't I?" I say meaningfully. He doesn't comment and I bite my lip, frowning as I shake my head.

He's not supposed to still be here. He's not supposed to have stayed, and he's not supposed to be funny or sweet or charming or easy to talk to. I exhale shakily, refocusing as I head back to the clay.

He's not supposed to make me feel this way.

A/N Sorry it's late! Better late than never?...

Life is a bit crazy right now. Hope you enjoy :) x