-POV Derby
The laughter died slowly between us, leaving only the quiet sound of breathing and the distant hum of the city outside the window. I was still half-draped over Jordan on the couch, my cheek against his chest, his fingers idly tracing the line of my spine under my shirt. The morning light had grown warmer, softer, painting everything in a gentle haze that made the apartment feel smaller, safer, more ours.
I should have pulled away.
Instead, I stayed.
His hand moved again — not hurried, not demanding. Just… there. The pad of his thumb brushed the small of my back in slow, deliberate circles, like he was learning the shape of me by touch alone. Not because the world was collapsing outside. Not because we were trying to forget the headlines or the threats. Just because he wanted
