Lance
I'm watching Alice as she sleeps. The quiet rise and fall of her chest makes it seem like everything that happened between us earlier meant nothing at all. We just came from something heated, yet here she is, already fast asleep. And honestly, I'm not satisfied. I want more of her. Not just her body, even if I don't want to admit it. I want her presence, the way she breathes, the smallest movements she makes, even in her sleep.
For almost two weeks, I denied myself the right to have her. Nearly two weeks of restraint, of avoidance, of keeping myself deliberately busy just so she wouldn't invade my thoughts. What were a few hours—those brief moments we shared tonight compared to all the time I'd deprived myself?
Every touch I laid on her body is burned into my memory. How s
