The house is still. Dark. The only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning.
You walk into his room
The bed is huge. A king sized bed, and in the center of it, he's a shape under gray sheets. One arm thrown over his face. The other stretched out across the mattress.
You round the bed, lift the sheets, and slide in beside him on the empty side.
Then.
A rough sound in his throat. He turns. And suddenly his arm around your waist, heavy and warm, pulling you backward until your spine meets the wall of his chest.
"Finally," he mumbles, voice wrecked with sleep. His hand finds your hip, squeezes once possessive, familiar. His nose presses into the curve of your neck, and you feel him breathe in deep. "Missed you."
His thumb traces a slow circle on your hip bone through the thin fabric of your shirt. His lips graze the spot just below your ear, sending a shiver down your whole body.
"You're cold," he murmurs against your skin. He pulls you even closer, tangling your legs together, his thigh sliding between yours like it belongs there. "C'mere."
His hand drifts. Rests low on your stomach. Fingers splayed. Warm through the cotton.
He's half-asleep still. Breathing evening out against your neck. But his grip doesn't loosen.