A Dark Fall [ORIGINAL & UNEDITED VERSION]

Thirteen

When I open my eyes my body is turned into him, his arm weighty and possessive across my body as he continues to sleep next to me.  I like how it feels there. I also like that he doesn't appear to be a snorer.  His breaths are just deep and calm and even. I can live with someone in my bed that isn't a snorer.

As I turn my head to stare at him, I wonder at what point during the night he turned himself on his side and put his arm around me.   I guess it could have been completely by accident, though for some pathetic girly reason I hope that it wasn't.

I shift slightly so that I'm flat on my back but he doesn't even flinch, clearly out cold and dead to the world.  Well, I suppose that's what giving someone 3 orgasms in succession will do to you. Though not 'someone' - me, I was the one he'd worn himself out pleasuring. The thought makes a little kick of satisfaction run through me.

I gaze down our bodies and take in the sight of his muscular tattooed arm, which is tanned and large across my paler smaller body then look back across to his face, which is a perfect image of peace and relaxation. He has femininely long lashes which are at this moment resting on the smooth tanned skin of his cheeks. I'm glad to see that there's no swelling around his nose or eyes or anywhere on his face at all.  My violent assault hadn't left its mark on him thank heavens.

Oh god I really hope this morning isn't awkward.  Last night I was tipsy on cider and overcome with lust and everything always looks different in the harsh light of day.  Well, everything except him.  He looks the same. Probably better actually, with the sunlight hitting the hard lines of his body and his gorgeous sleeping face.  My eyes move down to his full lips and I only just manage to resist the urge to lean over and kiss them.  The covers are below his waist giving me a full view of his magnificent inked body and as my eyes move down to the dark sprinkling of hairs that disappear below the sheets my mouth actually waters. The wicked thought that crosses my mind causes me to glance back at his face, fearful that the volume of my dirty mind has somehow penetrated his consciousness.  But he's still asleep.  His stubble is a little heavier this morning and adds to his masculinity - although I'm pretty sure even clean-shaven Jake Lawrence would still be the most masculine man I've ever seen.

A disarming thought enters my head then: I want to keep him for a while.  I want more than just one night or a couple of nights with him. I want to call him when I've had a bad day and have his comfort when I'm ill. Maybe even have him sit next to me at an event that calls for a couple.  Oh my god I'm in trouble. He only said he wanted to have sex again. At no point did he say he wanted to be my other half. 

Yep. I'm clingy, really single and in trouble.

So this was a fling then? If it was just sex and nothing else is that what this was?   I suppose I could live with that - first time for everything I suppose.  I confirm this thought as my eyes slither down his body again, drinking him in, halting at the lettering just above his left hip which goes across the front of his hard looking stomach.  It reads "C W" followed by the artistic abstract heart which clearly symbolises love, then a date marked in roman numerals that my foggy morning brain cant even be bothered trying to work out from this angle upside down.   Instead, I imagine the Claire or Catherine or Carla or some other name of a girl who I obviously now hate that he cared about enough to etch a reminder of into his skin. I should be ashamed. I'm indiscriminately jealous of someone he probably met years ago and isn't even with anymore.   I seriously need to get a grip. I also need to pee again and drink some water because I have morning cider mouth.

I slide out from under his arm and shimmy gently over to the edge of the bed. It's then that I notice Fred sleeping soundly at the foot of the bed against Jake's leg. It has to be the heat, Jake's heat - Fred loves warm places.  As I slide out of the bed and glance back at him I wonder if I should wake him up. I decide against it.  I have no desire to go through the less passionate, slightly awkward morning after thing before I absolutely need to.  Plus, he looks so peaceful.  He also looks a lot less dangerous and forbidden with a snoring tortoise-shell cat curled up at his feet.