This was no joyful, laughing after-romp caressing, no teasing, lighthearted languor. This was dark, and needy, and achingly tired, burrowed into her arms like a child with a bruise on his knee...
He slid from her body despite his best effort and the sensation ran through him like a current. George shivered and pressed his lips to her skin to stifle the soft, mournful sound.
She was home, good to him, all he needed, everything he wanted, and he knew it wouldn't always be so, but right now... right here... He knew she'd be uncomfortable and he moved slowly, one arm sliding behind her to keep her pressed to him as he shifted, not lifting his head as they settled to one side. Their limbs lay in a sweaty, tangled embrace, and he clung to her as his breathing slowed.
Slowed.
Time slowed to a crawl, and he couldn't imagine how long they lay there together, sweat cooling their bodies, her hand caressing his hair, his lips brushing her skin. He'd been aching. Sad and lonely. Hot and restless.
George touched her cheek with his fingertips, brushing sweat-damp hair off her face. "So good to me," he whispered, stroking her cheek until all the dark strands were away from her cheeks, studying her all the while.
"I really only meant to come be cool here," he said softly, the barest hint of a smile curving his mouth. "To wait for you. Maybe sleep over..." He reached to catch the end of the coverlet and drew it over the both of them. "You always know, don't you? What I need..."