Still Hers, Even in Sleep

Lily Thompson

Warmth.

That was the first thing I felt—deep, delicious warmth curling around me like a blanket I never wanted to let go of.

My body was draped over something firm and comforting, my leg tangled with another. My cheek rested on smooth skin, and every breath brought in a familiar scent, masculine and clean

Still half sleepy, I didn’t open my eyes right away.

Instead, I shifted, following the pull of the heat, my fingers moving lazily in search of its source. My hand drifted across bare skin, over a broad chest that rose and fell in slow rhythm.

Firm. Warm. Alive.

Half-asleep, I nuzzled closer, sighing as the warmth wrapped around me tighter. A strong arm slid around my waist, pulling me in like I belonged there. Long fingers stroked up my spine, stopping at the curve of my back. Then they moved higher, brushing a lock of hair from my face, then gently threading through the strands like they knew their way.

I melted into the touch.

It felt safe. Like something I hadn’t known I missed.

So soft… and yet hard in all the right places.

I moved without thinking. A light breath tickled my hair as I trailed over the rise of his collarbone, then down again. Over abs that clenched faintly at the contact.

I furrowed my brows, still in the haze of sleep, I slid lower.

Something was… there.

It was…

Firm

Something hard.

Hot

Why the hell was it so—

“Mmm…” I murmured, still drowsy. “What is… so hard?”

I heard a deep chuckle and I wasn’t sure if it was in my dream world.

“Maybe it’s because you’re touching it repeatedly,” the voice murmured.

And that’s when it hit me. I froze

My eyes flew open. My hand was there.

On him. On it.

On Ryan.

I was lying on Ryan and I had just…. I touched…

I gasped and yanked it back like I’d just touched a live wire, scrambling away so fast I nearly tumbled off the edge of the bed. My heart slammed into my chest as horror poured through me like ice water.

Oh. My. God.

“Lily?”

He sounded sleepy. But not unaware.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

I turned slowly to look at him, and—

Yep. Shirtless. Disheveled. Annoyingly gorgeous.

He blinked up at me with a soft smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth. “That was an interesting good morning.”

I wanted the mattress to swallow me whole.

“I—I didn’t know it was you,” I stammered, trying to get off the bed without stepping on pride or dignity. “I thought I was…. dreaming”

He propped himself up on one elbow. “You thought the pillow had abs?”

“Shut up,” I muttered, pressing both hands to my burning face.

He chuckled lowly, and it made something dangerous flip inside me.

“She left the bed an hour ago,” he added. “Bells, I mean. Climbed out between us and dragged her teddy to the living room. You didn’t even stir.”

I groaned. “Please don’t tell me I—did I say anything?”

He looked far too smug. “A few things.”

I didn’t want to know.

“I’m making coffee,” I announced, scrambling out of bed

“Should I be worried about what else you touch in your sleep?” he teased.

“I hate you.”

“Not what your hands said five minutes ago.”

“Ryan!”

He laughed, and I hated how much I wanted to smile.

I stomped out of the room, willing my heartbeat to calm down and ignoring the fact that my palm still tingled from touching him. Especially… there.

God help me.

I was in trouble.

Big, hard trouble.

I was burning up.

My hands shook as I poured water into the kettle, trying to ignore how loud my heartbeat still was. The entire kitchen felt too quiet, like it was daring me to replay every second of that moment.

Which I did.

On a loop.

Over and over.

I gripped the kitchen counter, hard.

And for just one stupid, fragile second… I wished I hadn’t moved at all.

I wanted to crawl back into that warmth. Into him.

God help me.

I touched him. There. I sighed against his chest. I moaned. I murmured. And he heard me.

“Kill me,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to the cabinet door.

“Mommy?”

I jumped.

Isabella stood in the doorway with her teddy and a suspiciously observant squint in her eye.

“Oh, good morning, sweetheart!” I said too fast, too brightly.

She tilted her head. “Why are you making coffee and talking to yourself?”

“I… just needed caffeine.”

She padded in on bare feet, then leaned against the counter like she was trying to act casual. “Did you sleep good last night?”

“Um… yes. Fine.”

“With Uncle Riri?”

I blinked. “What?”

She smiled, way too smug for a six-year-old. “You were cuddling. I saw you. You looked happy.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but she twirled away and sat at the table, swinging her legs like she didn’t just drop a nuke in the middle of my morning.

I looked up at the ceiling.

Why me?

Why now?

And why the hell did I still feel his hand on my waist? Why did I want to climb right back in? Why do I wish I never let go

Ryan Edwards

I watched the door swing shut behind her, the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall. But I was still frozen in place, still shirtless, still hard as a rock, and still very much wrecked.

Not because of what just happened.

But because of how easy it was to imagine a world where it kept happening. Where waking up with her tangled up in my arms was just… a normal Tuesday.

I ran a hand over my face.

Damn it, Lily.

My body hadn’t reacted like that to anyone in years. Years. I wasn’t some celibate monk, but after I lost her, I just… didn’t want anyone else.

Didn’t crave anyone else. I tried, sure. I dated, kissed, even thought briefly about proposing to someone just to move the hell on.

It didn’t work.

Because no matter how beautiful, smart, or perfect-on-paper they were, none of them were Lily.

No one else laughed the way she did, like the sound alone could knock the wind out of me.

No one else got under my skin with a single look.

No one else made my chest feel like it might split open when she touched me, even in her damn sleep.

I sat up slowly, dragging in a breath.

She didn’t even realize what she was doing. That was the worst part. The way she reached for me like it was muscle memory. Like part of her still knew, deep down, that I was safe. That I was hers.

But she’d hate me if she knew everything. If she knew the truth I’d kept from her. About who I am now. About how much of my world still revolves around her without her even knowing.

And yet… every time we get this close, I want to throw the truth on the table and beg her to stay.

Only, I can’t.

Not yet.

Because if I lose her again, I won’t survive it. Not this time.

So instead, I leaned back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to cool the fire in my blood and the ache in my chest.

She touched me like she was still mine.

And I let her.

God help me, I let her.

But next time… I don’t think I’ll be strong enough to let her go.