More Snippets - Hazard a guess or theory in the reviews
He doesn't care what she's wearing when she's in his bed, until its humid and hot and he comes home to her splayed on the mattress. She isn't wearing his shirt or bound up in her flannel pajamas. Its a simple, tight tank top and panties that curve over her ass and accentuates the subtle bend in her waist. Usually, when its closer to lunch than sunset, he falls onto bed, but tonight he has to touch, slip the cotton off her and satiate the thrum of his chest and the twitch in his pants. She's barely conscious of how he rocks unto her and teeters her one thrust after the other over and back until the edge is a knife biting between her thighs with want. And she tumbles, surrounded by him back into a sedate and ordinary dream.
Sleeping together is frustratingly focused on sleeping. Some nights she's thankful, having heard about other boys groping other girls into either type of exhaustion. But there's more, always more, because there's a security in knowing he desires her. In the absence of being pursued, she has ample doubt to contemplate.
It exhausts him to patiently wait and let her fall asleep in his arms. He has to mind his hands and watch his hips, monitor his kisses. Because he never wants to see her resign herself to him again. He never wants to feel like her attacker the way he felt when she compressed in on herself and prepared to be broken. He's terrified to do anything but hold her and shield her from the world.