I caught his arm and pulled him down with me, shifting back on the couch to make space. After a moment, he settled behind me, careful, like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to be.
“Seph.”
“Sleep, Dev,” I murmured, another yawn catching me.
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Goodnight, Seph,” he whispered.
Then warmth.
For a half second, I thought he pressed his face to my hair.
But maybe I dreamed that.
The soft sound of his breathing lulled me to sleep.
**
When I woke, warmth surrounded me.
Dev’s arm was around my waist, his body solid at my back. His breath stirred the hair at my neck — slow, steady.
I stayed still, enjoying his proximity.
He wasn’t asleep. I could feel it. The quiet tension in his body gave him away.
Neither of us moved.
Every place where we touched felt too aware. His hand rested at my hip, fingers curled lightly into the fabric like he was holding himself there, not quite sure if he should.
“Seph,” he murmured, voice rough.
“Yeah.”
His thumb shifted — just a small, careful stroke over my side, never quite touching skin. It moved again, and heat flickered under my nerves.
My breath caught.
I leaned back into him. Pressed against him. I wanted more.
For the first time, I didn’t panic. I craved him.
I heard him hiss softly. His grip tightened.
I could feel him behind me — present, restrained, just enough to make my pulse stumble.
His breath hitched against my neck, warm against my cheek.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said quietly.
I turned my head, close enough to feel the warmth of his mouth near my temple.
“I don’t.”
The space between us changed. Slower. Heavier. Charged.
His hand tightened, not desperate — deliberate. Like he’d been holding this back for a long time and was only just letting himself feel it.
