He smiled when she squeezed his middle and ensconced her head just beneath an armpit. How many times had he imagined her in this position, long, soft auburn curls fanned across his naked chest, her breath teasing his nipples and making him shiver? How many times had he ached for her? Usually, he didn't cuddle after sex, too eager to leave a woman's apartment before the light of day and avoid any inherent misunderstandings about permanence that came with physical closeness and an overnight stay. He didn't mind holding Slany, though—liked the way she made him feel powerless and empowered at the same time. He liked the easiness they shared, that he felt no need to rush or hurry her from his apartment, liked that he was comfortable with her in his space, and she was comfortable being here and herself. The things you do to me…the way you make me feel… Excitement and apprehension warred in him at the memory of her confession, because it mimicked his own sentiment.
