Chapter 22 - Morning After

Jay POV

Sunlight filtered through Kiefer's curtains, painting golden streaks across his bed where I was sprawled half-naked, limbs tangled with his. My hair was a mess, sticking to my forehead, and the faint smell of sex and his cologne hung thick in the room.

I groaned, squirming slightly. Every muscle ached, but in the best way—like my body had remembered the fire from last night and didn't want to let go. Kiefer stirred next to me, one arm thrown over my waist, fingers tracing patterns on my side that made me shiver immediately.

"Morning," he mumbled, voice rough and low, still half-asleep.

"Morning..." I replied, voice hoarse, barely coherent. My lips curved into a lazy, mischievous smile as I peeked at him. He looked impossibly gorgeous even like this—hair tousled, eyes heavy-lidded, the smirk already forming at the corner of his mouth.

"You're awake," he said, teasing already, tugging me closer so my back pressed against his chest. His hand slid down my side, fingers grazing my hip, and I gasped lightly.

"Shut up," I muttered, though the blush rising in my cheeks betrayed me.

"Don't tell me what to do," he whispered in my ear, lips brushing the shell as his hand drifted under the blanket. I stiffened, teasingly swatting at his hand.

"You're insane," I whispered, half-laughing, half-breathless.

"And you love it," he countered, voice low, confident, fingers tracing circles along my skin.

I wriggled under him, pretending to escape, but I wasn't really moving. I never really could. Kiefer always found a way, and this morning was no different. He pulled me back against him, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck, teeth grazing gently, enough to make me shiver.

"You're ridiculous," I murmured, nuzzling against his shoulder.

"And you're perfect," he said, lips pressing to my hair. "Messy, stubborn, everything I want."

I rolled my eyes, trying to sound unimpressed, but the heat in my cheeks betrayed me. He laughed low and soft, a sound that made my chest flutter even though I'd already given him all of me last night.

"Breakfast?" I asked, half-serious, because we had responsibilities outside of being completely wrecked in his bed.

"I can't... move..." he groaned, burying his face into my shoulder. "You know I'll just drag you back into bed if I get up."

"You... might," I whispered, curling closer into him. My legs tangled with his as I let my head rest against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, and it made my pulse speed up all over again.

We lay like that for a while, just breathing, warm and sticky, tangled in blankets, fingers brushing, and every now and then he'd kiss the top of my head, murmuring my name. It wasn't just sex anymore. It was intimacy—messy, rough, but comforting.

Kiefer POV

God, I wanted her again already. And it was barely morning. She was soft, warm, and deliciously clingy, lying across me like she owned my entire body—which, in truth, she did. I could feel every curve, every line of her, even under the blankets, every breath and heartbeat syncing with mine.

"I can't move," I muttered against her hair, though the truth was I didn't want to. I never wanted to leave this. She was addictive. Messy, beautiful, and mine.

She peeked up at me, half-lidded eyes, mischievous smirk curling at her lips, and I groaned. Fuck. I couldn't resist. I pressed a kiss to her temple, dragging my fingers along her spine, making her shiver.

"You're ridiculous," she whispered, voice still soft, breathless.

"And you're perfect," I countered, voice low, dominant, as I traced the curve of her hip again. I could feel her pulse under my fingers, wild, fast, like it always was around me. She tensed under my touch, playful, teasing... and I groaned at it.

"I need coffee," she muttered suddenly, trying to wriggle free.

"You can make it," I whispered in her ear, voice dangerous. "Or... stay here. We can skip it. I promise I'll keep you... distracted."

Her breath hitched, and I smiled darkly. I could see the blush creeping up her cheeks, the little gasp she couldn't hide, and I let my hand wander again, teasing, brushing over her skin lightly. She moaned softly. Fuck.

"You're insane," she said, again. She said it like she always did. But I loved it. Loved her. Loved that she admitted defeat with every moan, every shiver, every tug at me.

"I know," I murmured, pressing my lips to the curve of her neck. "And you love it."

She groaned, half in exasperation, half in pleasure. I tightened my hold around her waist, pulling her flush against me, our legs tangling under the blankets. Every brush of skin, every touch, every whispered name made me want her all over again.

"I might... just... stay like this forever," she murmured, head resting on my chest.

"You can," I said softly, hand running down her back, thumb brushing over her spine. "I don't care if the world ends. You're mine."

"And you're... mine..." she replied softly, voice shaking, and it was all I needed.

We stayed like that for a while. Kissing, touching, murmuring, tangled in each other. Breakfast could wait. Responsibilities could wait. Nothing mattered except us, our warmth, the lingering heat, the stolen moans and laughs, the tangled limbs, and the messy aftermath of last night.

I pressed a kiss to her hair, shoulder, and finally her lips again, slow, lingering, satisfied but teasing. "You know," I whispered, voice low, "I could make you scream again before noon."

She laughed breathlessly, pressing herself against me tighter. "Try me."

And fuck, I was already planning exactly how.