The warm body next to me felt nice this morning.
It wasn't every day I woke up with Conan curled against me like this—arms draped lazily around my waist, leg slung over mine, his face half-buried in my neck. His breathing was even and slow, the kind that only came with deep sleep. I almost didn't want to move. He had love bites scattered across his collarbone, some new from last night. I stared at them proudly.
It wasn't the first time he'd made the first move, but it was the first time he apologized first. He'd actually tried to make it up to me.
I was so damn satisfied.
He said he loved me. He really said it.
