i know what you like

“Can’t cuddle, it’s too hot.” Turning the page and hoping the next paragraph might finally catch your attention, you try to ignore the kisses he’s now pressing to the inside of your elbow. Though it’s probably more sensible and a lot cooler to not wear pyjamas, you’ve still tugged on your matching pink set almost every night of the heatwave; still too shy to sleep naked, despite the fact Jude had seen all of you in nearly every position imaginable and wouldn’t bat an eyelid at it.

“Quit being grumpy.” He laughs, grinning in that handsome way which always turns your knees to jelly. If you weren’t being so stubborn, you’d turn to stare at him; watch the way his skin glistens with a layer of sweat, and how his shoulders look so broad and strong that it makes your stomach do that funny lurch, like when there’s a big drop on a rollercoaster. Though instead, you don’t move a muscle, feigning interest in your book with your eyebrows furrowed in faux concentration. 

“I’m not grumpy.” Your words couldn’t sound less convincing, and he squeezes your knee to try and get you to look at him again. His fingers run up and down your calf, right where you’d applied your vanilla-scented body lotion after your cold shower, and you grit your teeth at the feeling. It’s both lovely and annoying, having someone who knows you like the back of their own hand; where you’re ticklish and what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. It’s both a blessing and a curse, more so the latter in this situation.

“Being a Debbie Downer, yeah?” He shuffles against your bedsheets, moving to sit up by your headboard, and pressing a kiss to the top of your shoulder. “Gimme a kiss before bed, c’mon.” The plea sounds so sweet that your heart squeezes in your chest; you can see him in your peripheral vision, and his eyes look so big and brown, like a baby deer in those pictures you text him comparing him to one, and it makes you bite on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from pouncing on him. “Just one.” Though they were unstable to begin with, you can feel him chipping away at the wall you’d built up. He presses a peck to the top of your arm, then to your collarbone, and though his mouth is all sticky and hot, you still want him to keep going; the other night, while he was doing just this, he’d darted his tongue out to taste your sweat, and you’d scolded him with your face all scrunched up when he said he liked it.

“There she is.” Nudging his head forward, he lets his nose brush against yours, his breath all minty from brushing his teeth earlier. “Just one.” He confirms before he captures his lips onto yours, making a little needy noise into your mouth and tugging at the hem of your pyjama top to pull you closer. Though it’s only brief, when you break apart, he still huffs out his nose like you’d been kissing for hours, running his tongue over his lips to catch your shared mixture of saliva.