I wake to the soft in-and-out of Dante's breath against my cheek.
We're in his bed, and for once, I've woken before him. My body is draped across his, and his chest rises and falls beneath my arm. I can feel his slow, steady heartbeat beneath the pads of my fingers.
For a long moment, I just lie there and stare at him. Watch the slight flutter of his dark lashes against his cheeks. Admire the long, hard lines of his body. He has a habit of kicking the sheets off while he sleeps, so most of his well-muscled form is in view. I let my fingers drift across the plane of his chest, following the path my mouth took last night. It must be close to dawn because the light that leaks in through the window is pale pink against his skin.
I'm not sure how long I lie there watching him. My body feels languid, content. Any tension or anxiety I felt last night disappeared beneath Dante's passionate touch. I feel like we could take on the world together.
We left the window cracked last night, and a
