When he wakes up in the morning, there 's heat against his chest and warmth between his arms. There 's steady life beneath his palm and the smell of roses. He peels his lids apart and sees the crown of black, the curve of her shoulder. He trails his fingers up her side, hears the hitch in her breathing.

Grinning, he brings his lips to the shell of her ear. Feels her tense under him. 'Morning, ' he murmurs, syllables still rugged with sleep.

She shivers. Doesn 't protest at the feel of him stiffening against the back of her thigh. At the glide of his hand down her skin, down her stomach, between her legs. He watches her brows crease, watches her lips part. When he presses his thumb to her, makes a tight circle, he watches every flicker of her lashes, sees the maroon glow shuttering beneath whispering lids. She still doesn 't protest.