He shudders unbidden beneath the vibrant press of it, fingers tightening in their grip across her arms— one low, lone breath exhaling through his nose.
A noise escapes his throat, stern, impatient. It takes only a single moment— where her fingers begin the process of gracing her nightclothes— for him to reach high and snare her, yanking her to the mattress with a growl.
Victory is hers, it seems.
And neither of them will be sleeping for yet another night.
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An attempt to steady himself, however futile.
“...I thought we were meant to sleep.”
Mild. Enduring. And far, far from scolding.
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She's already unbuttoning her nightgown. "Noah. I need you." Her voice is less need and more mischief.
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Victory is hers, it seems.
And neither of them will be sleeping for yet another night.