Exhaustion. When it hit Matisse, it hit him hard. Another late night wasn’t in the cards. He was emotionally drained, and it left him as wiped out as if he’d run a marathon. 

He hit his bed, face first, landing sideways, feet hanging off the side. Closing his eyes, he reached for the covers and folded it backward. Unable, and unwilling, to move, he got a small triangle of material, enough to cover one shoulder.

A knock on the door startled him, and he called out, “Come in.”

“Hi.” It was Nora. “Mind if I sleep in here tonight?”

Like a jolt of caffeine, her words had him sitting up and making room for her. “Not at all.”

He slid himself beneath the covers, folding them back so she could slide in next to him.

“You’re still dressed,” she said.

“I was too tired to change.” Not anymore, though. He shrugged out of his blazer, vest, and t-shirt and dropped them on the floor. Beneath the covers, he wrestled with the pants. He thought he was so cool wearing leather pants. Well look at him now, squirming like a worm.

Rather than get into bed, Nora watched him. One hand covered her mouth, but her eyes sparkled, and he knew she was trying not to laugh.

“Ready,” he finally said.

She wiggled toward him, and he lifted his arm so she could rest her head on his chest. “Thanks,” she murmured, her breath tickling his skin. “I needed to be close after all that.”

He hadn’t realized it, but so did he. With her here, his breathing deepened and evened and his body sunk into the bed.

“I’m so tired,” Nora whispered. “Will you get the light?”

The room plunged into darkness, but his body was on high alert, aware of every move, breath, and sigh Nora made. Her body rubbed against his as she got comfortable and draped her smooth arm across his stomach to tuck beneath his back.

The gentle slide of skin against skin reverberated like a shock wave through his entire body. “Nora.” He gasped.

She made a noise of question, and he wondered if she had any idea what she did to him. Her leg positioned across his, hips canting into his side, and he realized she did.

“I haven’t slept,” he whispered, as if he wasn’t wide awake.

“I know.” Her voice held feigned innocence. “I’m sure you’re very tired.”

Her body moved over his, knees on either side of his hips. She sat up, and he was suddenly very annoyed he’d turned the light off. In the dark, with only shadows, he had to rely on what he felt and heard. He knew she crawled to his mouth when her shirt skimmed his chest, breasts pressing against him. Her hands sank into the pillow on either side of his head, and then her lips were on his.

When he chuckled, she pulled away. “What?”

“You taste like mint.” He’d made her paranoid.

“Not taking any chances.” She giggled. “Not after what shall hereafter be known as the oregano incident. God, that shake was foul.”

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked as he trailed fingers along her ribs, tracing each bone and the flare of her hips. He sunk his fingers into her skin then released the pressure to slither back up and under her shirt.

Pausing, she seemed to be considering his question. “You know, I am? Dammit. I’m going to have to cop to it working.”

When he chuckled, it did interesting things to their bodies, rubbing places that began to throb. Nora’s solution was to kiss him. She pulled her legs under her to reach his mouth, nibbling his lips, and scoured his scalp with her fingers. Content to let her lead at her own pace, he settled in for a frustrating and wonderful experience.

Days before, he’d pressured her to have sex, but she’d called him on his shit. In the meantime, he’d thought a lot about her reasons for slowing their physical relationship and found he was on board with them.

The whole thing was new to him, a relationship moving at its own pace. No destination in mind. He’d never let things progress naturally. He’d always shifted into high gear. Eye on the prize and all that.

Nora’s lips against his were magical. Her fingers played him like a musical instrument, pressing into his sides, releasing and creeping to a new spot. Never before had he felt the things he did with Nora.

“Your mind is busy,” she whispered against his lips, interrupting his musing. She swept her hands across his eyelids, forcing them to close.

The tip of her tongue teased his lips, and he opened his mouth. Her kisses were tentative as if she wasn’t how far to go, how hard to push. She was waiting for him. He was an equal partner—every move forward she made needed an answer from him.

Like a strike of lightning, he suddenly understood what she was asking. Sex was give and take. It was chase and retreat and meet in the middle. It was being tuned into Nora so he knew what she needed without her having to say a word.

Cognizant now, he focused totally on the girl in his arms. When she stroked his tongue with hers, he returned the pressure. He listened for the sounds she made. Her hips ground against him when he sucked her tongue into his mouth, drawing on it hard.

Her skin pebbled with goosebumps when he used his rough palms on her sides, and all of the noise and static in his head disappeared. His body was completely under his control because it was his way to give pleasure to Nora.

Eventually, their kisses slowed, urgency giving way to languor. With a hand against her back, he urged her forward, and tucked her chin beneath his head. Their breathing slowed, her stomach pressing into his as she exhaled. They hadn’t brought each other to climax, but he was as satisfied as if they had.

In his arms, Nora startled. He soothed her, rubbing circles on her skin until she fell asleep. To keep her in his arms, he turned them, squeezing her tightly. His eyes closed and sleep overtook him, but Nora stayed, arms tucked between them, cheek against his heart.