33

Emmy

Bentley shifted, muttering something as he moved. His arm tightened around me reflexively, then loosened as he drifted back into sleep. Early dawn spilled through the glass, and I could study his face in the wan light. Relaxed, without the serious countenance that people saw him wear, he looked younger and oddly vulnerable. His light brown hair, without the product to tame it, was wavy and fell over his forehead. I liked how it looked on him. The stubble was thick on his chin, and I knew I would find evidence of his passion on my skin. Slight red blemishes his rough beard left behind. He allowed the scruff because I liked it, even though I knew he preferred to be clean-shaven. He did so many things to please me, but he couldn’t see how wonderful he was.

I inhaled, content and lazy, yet not sleepy. The bed smelled like Bentley, like me, like us. There was the faint aroma of brandy and sex, making the scent unique and heady.

Unlike his serious, stiff persona he showed to the world,