Uninhibited

Dex. All of him.

Only him.

21.

I wake the next morning, safe in an unfamiliar embrace. I roll to look at him, still sleeping, his dark hair sticking out in unruly tufts, dark stubble scattered on his jaw.

It all comes back to me in a sweet, heady rush.

How our bodies intertwined as if they were made to fit together; how we lie awake, whispering in the darkness, sharing silly stories and sleep-heavy dreams, trading kisses and secret truths until I slipped away into the velvet black with his arms locked tight around me, holding me closer than I’ve ever known.

Now, in the pale morning sunlight, I feel breathless just looking at him. I’d imagined a closeness like this, sharing so much of myself with someone, but it had always been a distant kind of dream. Theoretical, unknown. But Dex…This is real, the fragile threads of connection our confidences have spun. I’m tethered to him by a thousand shimmering strands of hope and history, an intimate bond that feels like everything and nothing all in one.

Is this how it always is? Being with somebody. I gently trace the contours of his face, every dip and hollow. I can’t believe it, that sex can do this to somebody, every time. My friends can be so cavalier about their hook-ups, dissecting everything from his physique to performance with detached amusement. But this…This was different, I already know it in my bones. Somehow, we were more than our bodies, more than the slide of flesh and hungry skin.

I felt him everywhere. I gave him every part of me.

How can I ever go back?

I feel a shiver of insecurity. I pull back, gently lifting his arm and sliding out from under him. I grab a T-shirt from the floor and slide it over my head, padding silently with bare feet on the wooden floorboards through to the cool expanse of marble in the master bathroom.

I catch my breath, struggling to identify this feeling rising in my chest, a tender ache both bittersweet and scary, wingbeats fluttering alive in a place I never knew existed until now.

Pull it together, I tell myself sternly. You’re acting like a child now. This was just sex.

Just.

But I know it’s not true. I turn on the shower and let the hot, steamy water beat against my tired muscles. I can feel his touch still imprinted on my skin, feel the unfamiliar ache of exertion in my limbs. I smooth my hands over my body, over the tender places his mouth, and lips, and hands claimed as their own, feeling my stomach twist all over again. I understand now his promise that I would feel him for days. My body is branded with him, a delicious soreness reminding me of every hard thrust and deep grind…

I snap back to reality and finish rinsing off, squeezing water from my hair and stepping back out to towel dry myself. I smooth my wet hair back into a braid, and wrap myself in a fluffy bathrobe before stepping back out into the bedroom. My stomach is skipping, strangely nervous, and when I see him lazing there on the tangled sheets, awareness ricochets through my body.

God, he’s gorgeous.

Dex opens his eyes with a lazy yawn. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Hi.”

I loiter in the doorway, uncertain what to do now. Everything is bright sunlight and new dawn, and for a moment, it feels like the soft whispers of last night were just a dream. Dex slides out of bed and stretches, tanned muscles lengthening over his briefs. He looks sleepy and satisfied, his hair still adorably askew. He wanders over to me, and pulls me gently into his arms.

“You already showered,” he says, with a teasing glint in his eye. “I was going to scrub your back.”

I smile, relaxing into him. “Another time.”

“Mmm…” Dex’s reply is a low hum as he dips his head into the hollow of my neck, breathing me in. “You’re all fresh and clean.” He kisses slowly up the curve of my throat, making me shiver. He slides his hands under my robe, over my bare skin, as his lips nuzzle at my ear. “We’ll have to get you dirty again.”

I blush, still new to all of this, the morning-after glow in my body, and the self-conscious edge to every word. “Did you sleep OK?” I babble, nervous.

Dex chuckles. “Too much. It was a waste of having you in bed with me.”

He kisses my lips now, and I can’t help but exhale in a breath of sweet sensation. His tongue slides into my mouth, languidly tasting me, all the time in the world as the morning sun washes over us and I feel the warmth spread, from my head all the way down to my toes.

“C’mon,” Dex reluctantly breaks away. “You go back to bed. It’s my turn to make breakfast.”

“I’m not going to argue with that,” I grin. I flop back down onto the mattress, feeling the warm indent his body just left behind. I splay out, yawning, as he laughs.

“Coffee?”

“Yes sir.”

“And how do you like your eggs?” he asks.

Served by you, naked.

“However you want.” I sit up. “Are you sure you don’t want some help? I can come—”

“Nope.” Dex shakes a finger at me sternly. “You don’t move a muscle. Unless you want to slide out of that robe…” He winks, and I giggle at the teasing, at this delicious banter, light and breezy as the day ahead.

“I’ll be back,” he promises. “You just relax.”

I lay back and do as he commands, listening to his footsteps trail down the hallway and the sound of cabinets opening and closing; the clatter of pans on the stove, and his low voice, singing something I can’t quite hear.

I yawn, snuggling into the covers. I can still smell him on the sheets around me, a faint echo of his intoxicating scent. I listen to him bustling around the kitchen, safe in a warm cocoon of sunshine and contentment.