When I open my eyes, he’s still sketching. Not even watching me. Why is that so fucking hot? “Want me to keep them in you?” he asks, referring to his fingers. “No,” I say, worried I might full-on ride them if he does. “You can have them back.” Gently, he slips them out, and I put my hand to my forehead in a salute. He grins. “You saluting my fingers? “Yes.” He looks at me like I’m all the stars in his sky, and it leaves me breathless for a moment.
