Page 55 of Shots on Net

Scootching down and nestling into the covers, I lay on my side to face him. “I am absolutely down for it.”

Mirroring me, he takes it a step further and comes so close to me our noses are almost touching. The arm he wraps around me is heavy and warm; it feels very, very good. I’ve never slept like this before—cuddled up with someone else—but I have a feeling it’s going to be an enjoyable experience. Anything that brings Carter’s face this close to mine is a worthy way to spend a night.

“Forgot to turn off the light,” he mumbles, making me laugh. I push up onto an elbow and his arm slides down my hip. Leaning over him, I click the light off before settling back in the same spot as before. Reaching down, I grasp his wrist and pull his arm back to where it was lying below my ribs.

“Goodnight, Carter,” I whisper, reaching a careful hand out to touch his bare chest, needing more contact.

“Goodnight, Zeke,” he whispers back. I can feel the words on my face, close as we are. “Sleep tight.”

???

I wake up first, which is delightful because it grants me uninterrupted staring at Carter’s sleeping form. We managed to not move an inch all night—I’ve woken up in the exact position I fell asleep in, with his arm thrown over me and our feet tangled together. His lips are slightly parted, eyelashes fluttering with each breath.

Reaching out, I very carefully run a fingertip over the shaved side of his head. He makes a small noise but doesn’t open his eyes. I do it again, but this time along the edge of the longer strands; apparently, he does not experience bedhead. There isn’t a single piece of hair out of place. When I trace my finger over the shell of his ear, he sighs.

“You’re still here,” he says, voice rough but discernibly pleased.

“I’m still here,” I agree, happily. “Did you brush your teeth when you got home last night? Before you woke me up?”

Carter cracks an eye open and looks at me. “What?”

“When you woke me up. You changed into pajamas and then came to bed.”

“I came home, peed, and brushed my teeth in my bathroom,” he says, propping himself up on an elbow to look at me. He angles his head to the left. “That bathroom. You sleep like the dead.”

“Oh, good. Well, in that case—.”

“Why?”

“Because I was thinking I might kiss you, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t still have hockey breath.”

“Hockey breath!” He exclaims, indignantly. I laugh. Half of his face is sort of smooshed-looking—lines etched into his cheek from the pillow, and his eyelashes are bent out of shape.

“Yeah, like…mouthguard breath. And combined with morning breath? I mean…gross, right?” It’s hard to get the words out without devolving into laughter. Carter is trying very hard not to smile; he’s trying to look menacing but his mouth is too soft to pull it off.

“Okay, you’re right,” he agrees, but punctuates this with a roll of his eyes. “That would be gross.”

He flops back down onto the bed and I smile, vindicated. He’s flat on his back now, so it’s me who rises up onto an elbow to look down at him. The bruise on his neck looks vivid; it crawls down over his shoulder and collarbone, visible even with the black tattoo ink coloring his skin. I wonder again how he got it, but am a little afraid to ask.

“So,” he says, interrupting my thoughts, “I seem to remember there being talk of kissing? Unless you’re the one who didn’t brush their teeth last night.”

Feeling daring, I lean down and press my lips to the closest part of him I can reach: his shoulder. He sucks in a sharp, painful breath, like I stabbed him with a knife instead of kissing him. I do it one more time, in a different spot. Scooting closer so that I don’t have to reach as far and my front is pressed against his side, I skirt the bruise and kiss the center of his chest. His unmoving chest.

“Are you breathing?” I ask, leaning back to look at his face.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Come here.”

Reaching an arm up, he cups the back of my head and pulls me down to kiss him. I hum, happily, because I love kissing him. He turns his head and slides his tongue into my mouth; his hand is doing something glorious to my head that feels like a scalp massage. I’m distracted, so it takes me several long moments before I realize I’m somehow laying on top of him.

“Sorry,” I gasp, using a hand on his shoulder to push myself up. I don’t get very far, because he’s holding me down with his free arm.

“Why the fuck are you sorry?” He asks. “Half of my fantasies start this exact way.”

I snort a laugh and he smiles up at me. I wonder if I should take my shirt off, so that we’ll both be shirtless. Before I can second guess myself too much, I lean down and give him a quick peck. “Let me up for a second.”

His arms drop to his sides and I sit up. I’m straddling him—another thing I don’t remember doing—which means he’s lying below me half-naked and beautiful. A burning sensation starts low in my groin, as though my nerve endings are all zapping to life. I grasp the hem of my shirt and have it a third of the way pulled off when gentle hands stop me.

“What are you doing?” Carter asks, in a husky voice.

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