“That was epic,” he says.
I laugh out loud. “Epic? You’re describing me as epic in bed?”
“If that’s round one,” he says, “I can’t wait to get to round two.”
I rise on my elbow, stare down at him, then softly brush his lips with mine. “You have no idea what you’ve got yourself in for.”
I glance around the room at the twisted duvet and scattered pillows. My bedroom has never looked less perfect, and strangely, I don’t mind.
His hand drifts lazily up my back, fingertips brushing my spine.
“You don’t look nearly as intimidating now,” he says.
“Careful,” I reply softly. “That could change very quickly.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The room is quiet except for his breathing. A calm that hasn’t sat in my home for years. A calm I didn’t realize I missed. I don’t feel like I’m holding everything together on my own.
“I didn’t plan any of this,” I admit.
“Good,” he says. “Neither did I.”
“Still think you’re ready for round two?” I ask.
His laugh is low and warm. “I’m starting to realize,” he says slowly, “that I may have seriously underestimated you.”
I smile. “Good.”
Because tonight, for once, I’m not in a hurry to put the world back in order.