I came back to myself sometime later. I don't' know how long exactly, but I think it had been awhile. Long enough for Connor to have moved me where he wanted me. It was the way that Connor liked to sleep with me in bed, him on his back, his bicep supporting my neck, his arm curled around my back, my head on his chest, one leg over his. His free hand covering mine where it rested on his chest, inches from my face. I inhaled deeply. I did love the way he smelled after sex. All sweaty and tired, spiced with that distinct smell of the mixing of his seed and my slick, along with the tang of his soap. Exhaling, I smiled, then shivered.
It was cold as hell in the loft tonight and I had not a stitch of clothing on. Reaching around, I found the blanket that Connor would cover me with sometimes, but he was laying on top of it. Getting as good a grip as I could, I pulled, but my limbs were still too wobbly to put much strength into it. I exhaled against his chest in a huff, before trying again with no more success than the first time. Connor was unaffected by any of this as he lay, unawares and snoring beneath and beside me. I curled around him as much as I could, trying to absorb some of that unending reserve of body heat of his, but it wasn't working. I had resigned myself to freezing to death, when I felt a blanket with traces of residual heat and the distinct smell of Murphy being pulled over me. I smiled, raising my free hand up to my shoulder to catch his when it came to rest there. "Better?" he whispered in the dark.
"Much," I replied, squeezing his fingers with my own. "Thanks, Murph."
He leaned down to me, his mouth inches from my ear, "No, girl. Thank *you*." My face flushed as the night came back full-force. He kissed my reddened cheek before standing and shuffling back to his own bed.
