Camila's POV
The soft patter of rain was the first thing I heard.
Then the heat. His warmth.
I blinked slowly, lashes heavy with sleep, only to find myself curled around him like he was my personal pillow. One of Anthony's arms was slung under my shoulders, the other wrapped low around my waist, fingers splayed just above the curve of my hip. His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, steady and strong.
I didn't move. Couldn't. Not yet.
His skin was warm under my fingertips, and his scent—clean, a little like cedar, and something boyish—lingered in the air. I tilted my head just slightly and caught a glimpse of his face.
God.
Even asleep, he was beautiful.
His dark brown lashes were thick and curled slightly at the ends, resting softly against his cheeks. His lips were parted, full and smooth, like they'd been made for kissing—which, honestly, they had been. That kiss last night still hummed on my lips like static.
I reached up, brushing a fingertip along the edge of his jaw, then up to the curl that had fallen over his forehead. It fell back when I let it go, soft and wably . I smiled and did it again.
His skin was so light against mine—almost golden now in the morning light—and the contrast made my fingers look darker, richer, almost like a painting. I traced along his collarbone, then down to the muscle in his arm, where the veins peeked through faintly. He was all definition, soft skin over strength. Quiet power.
I let my fingers travel a little lower, over his chest and down to his waist where our bodies layed under the blanket. His breath hitched.
And then he moved.
Anthony's POV
She was awake. I knew the second her hand stilled over my stomach.
I'd been awake for a while. Her breathing had changed, her fingers had started exploring—and I didn't want to ruin it, didn't want to break the quiet spell she'd unknowingly cast.
But two could play that game.
I shifted slowly, pressing my face into her fluffy bouncy cloud like boobs like I was still half-asleep. Her gasp was soft, surprised, but she didn't push me away. Her arms wrapped around me tighter instead.
I smiled against her skin.
"You smell like sugar and lavender," I murmured, voice still thick with sleep.
"And you smell like boy and danger," she whispered back, her voice low, teasing.
I laughed quietly and nuzzled her again, letting my hands slide up her waist until my fingers found bare skin. She shivered, but didn't pull away.
"I thought you were asleep," she said, voice muffled.
"I was," I lied.
"Liar."
She tipped my head up slightly, and our eyes met for the first time in the morning light. Her gaze held mine without hesitation—no awkwardness, no regret, just calm.
Safe.
Her fingers played in my curls again, and I closed my eyes, letting myself feel it—this peace, this warmth, this her. We didn't need to speak, not yet.
The storm outside had passed.
But the one inside me? The one that raged every time she touched me, looked at me, held me like I was hers?
That storm had just begun.