Je t'aime, tu sais?

She woke up warm and happy.
Patrice sighed from behind her, cuddled into her back. One of his heavy arms was wrapped under her own, his hand nestled in her chest, the other outstretched under her soft head, probably prickly with pins and needles and sleep. His knees backed up to hers, and his chin rested on top of her head, his nose buried in her hair.
She bit her lip and hugged his humongous hand closer to her chest. In response, he rubbed his nose into the back of her head, emitting noises of sleep from deep within his throat. She pulled his fingers up to her lips and kissed them, remembering how sweet they had been to her the previous night.
"Mmm," he breathed deeply, cuddling her closer and flexing his fingers that hung off of her side of the bed, stiff from their lack of blood cut off by the light weight of her head.
She had spent all night with him in some of the most intimate of ways, but still had butterflies as his flat, strong, naked chest pushed up against her small t-shirt clad back. She could feel his massive, muscular heart slowly beat; it was so strong she felt it pushing the blood throughout his body, coursing it through his skin.
She craned her neck to get a good look at him; sleep had turned his face delicately soft. He looked young and carefree, yet the shadow covering his chin and cheeks made him look older and weary. He frowned slightly, knitting his brow.
She furrowed her own brow, hoping he had truly enjoyed himself last night, at Harvard and then later in his own bed.
As she examined his slight frown she experienced a second of panic, worried that perhaps he had been caught up in the moment last night and may regret his late night decision with her when he finally awoke.
That made her stomach flip--and not in the usual, good way he normally caused her.
How could he though? He clearly enjoyed himself in the elevator as he pushed her up against the wall, wholly reaping the benefits of his knuckles "accidentally" grazing the Emergency Stop button as she had decided to take a chance and run her hand between his legs. She couldn't help but assume the moan that came through his lips and the twitch of his hips meant to keep going.
After being ushered out of the elevator by an angry security guard over the intercom, they had bashfully yet urgently continued into his apartment and he had set her on his black, sparkly granite counter top and removed his shirt and her tights. From there he had admitted to wanting to sleep with her, and with her approval, he carried her eagerly into the bedroom.
Those were lots of moments to be caught up in, she reflected; was she just reading too far into his subconscious expression? Since, his face had fallen back into deep slumber; so deep, his mouth hung slightly ajar and she pressed her lips gently to his chin.
She couldn't help herself.
He was so adorable.
When they had made it to the bedroom, he released her gently, letting her fall back on his bed with grace as he admired her and collected himself. She shivered as she remembered the feeling of his silky, navy bedding as he knelt above her, his biceps large as he held himself over her, kissing her fiercely. She ran the palm of her hand between his legs again and his knees gave way and he pressed their hips together, chest heaving and perspiration beading on his forehead. She gave herself goosebumps remembering how he murmured her name all night, between kisses, nips and licks on her taught, soft skin.
"I'm so happy we're doing this," she had breathed as he attacked her neck with his lips and hot breath.
"Nu uh," he exhaled, nuzzling her chin in the air for a better position to leaving sweet presses of his lips along her jaw line. "I'm happier," he had declared, lifting up to crash into her lips, allowing his naked chest to press against her own naked breast as she bore the full weight of him.
She sighed relief as she remembered their final exchange of coherent words before they disintegrated into panting, "oh my god"s, "yes"s, and a few light curses in French. He had been happy; there was no way he would regret being with her in the morning, she assured herself. When his brows weren't knit in concentration or his eyes weren't rolled in the back of his head he had definitely been beaming.
She did her best to roll onto her back and scoot above Patrice, placing his heavy head on her chest. Although still asleep, his body molded to her side quickly and he rubbed his face into the area just below her collar bone. He sighed, contently, and as he did his lips parted and his mouth lay just a bit open. He resumed his deep dreaming.
She didn't want to pride herself too much, but, she thought maybe she had warn him out last night.
She rested her head back on his black leather, sturdy headboard and ran her fingers through his hair. It was straight and strong, and bounced up as soon as her hand passed over it. She let her hand fall down the back of his neck and gently glide across his strong shoulder, exposed from the silky navy down comforter that hung around his mid-chest.
She leaned forward and put her nose in his hair, taking in his sweet smell of sweat and Acqua di Gio cologne left over from their first black tie event together. She breathed him in a gently drifted back to dreams of her own.

He awoke asleep on her chest with a fire burning low in his gut.
Hunger.
He also awoke with happiness and a certain sense of fulfillment. He smiled and gently lifted his head, taking note that Jamie was asleep above him, and as he saw her, he felt a particular glowing in his chest, a tightening but not in a sickening way, like when he desperately needed more air after a tiring shift, but instead in a very warm and mellow way, a very comfortable way. Perhaps it came from the satisfaction he took in having brought her to climax three times; maybe it was the two times he shared with her, their bodies pulsating together, chests and bellies crashing against each other as they gasped for air, their eyes screwed shut and their mouths ajar; it could also be the overwhelming adoration he felt for her, even more powerful than he felt the day before; or it could be the growing attachment he was developing for her, somewhere deep within his thick and powerful body.
He raised an arm and gently cupped her cheek, lowering Jamie down his body and carefully turning her to her side, resting her head on the pillows as opposed to the backboard of his bed.
She happily sighed as he propped himself up on one of his elbows facing her, gently tucking her soft dark hair behind her ear. She smiled in her sleep as he gently pressed a kiss to her exposed temple.
He took a steadying breath, noticing her bare breasts beneath the thin t-shirt he had adorned her with after their second roll in the hay. Naturally she wore a spoked-B.
After he had pleased her for her third and final time for the night and he had done his best to muffle his grunt and minimize his shaking as he finished, he lay flat on her and kissed her long and sweetly, flexing his cramped calves and curling and uncurling his toes. Her hands wandered his back and pulled his navy sheets up to his shoulders, securing his warmth around them.
"Incroyable, Patrice," she had whispered into his ear, wrapping her lean arms around his neck and hugging him to her. He remembered the overwhelming sense of comfort and adoration he had for her, bursting somewhere in his chest, and he remembered jamming his hands between her back and the sweat soaked sheets and hugging her closer to him, burying his face into the space between her neck and shoulder. Then, she ever so gently rested her hand on the top of his head, and with such a simple, beautiful gesture, assured him that his signs of affection, his cling to whatever it was they were sharing, was being received and reciprocated.
If he wasn't so afraid of the word, he would've told her he loved her right then and there.
After a few moments of watching her chest steadily rise and fall, he rolled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, audibly yawning as he rubbed the side of his face. Without shutting the door, he leaned into his glass encased shower and started the hot water. As he waited for it to warm, he tipped the lid of the toilet closed and sat on the porcelain, his sleepy head in his hands.
He needed breakfast. Fast.
Egg white omelet, he thought, his mouth salivating at the thought of chopped green peppers and tomatoes.
As he hung his head, massaging his thick neck with one hand, he noticed the teal, crinkled condom wrapper that lay on the floor, having been discarded carelessly by him merely hours ago in the general vicinity of his trash can. He pulled his lips to one side in a sheepish grin and his stomach suddenly flipped as he remembered what it felt like the first time he entered her.
Startled by the amount of steam in the bathroom, he quickly reached into the glass shower and added some cold water, testing the stream with his forearm.
He wiped the remaining water on his dark gray boxer briefs, the only item of clothing he presently wore, and made his way over to the bed, gingerly sitting besides Jamie. Before he woke her though, he thought of making himself look more presentable. He gently fell to his knees and pulled out a pair of athletic shorts from the bottom of his dresser, clumsily stepped into them, and then returned to his sleeping beauty.
"Mon amour," he whispered, nuzzling her gently with his nose. "I've got a shower going for you," he cooed, rubbing his cheek against hers. She stretched her arms and sighed, rolling over and meeting him with open arms.
"Oui?" she squeaked, stretching out her back and pulling his neck down and breathing in his scent.
"I figured you'd like one; I'm going to make breakfast," he said, rubbing her back as she rolled over onto his legs, hugging his knees. His name and number looked up at him; he gave himself a mental high-five.
"Aw, so sweet," she breathed, smiling happily, planting a small kiss on his bony knee.
"Yeah?" He asked, licking his lips and watching her wake up beneath him. He tucked her hair behind her ears again, and she rolled over to smile up at him.
Her smile soon faded and she looked up at him sincerely. They held one another's gaze for a few seconds, before she reached up and stroked her cheek with her thumb, her elegant fingers weaving their way in his hair just under his ear around the back of his head. He kissed the palm of her hand and then leaned lovingly into her hold.
"Are you alright?" He asked her softly, gently running his hand up and down her forearm propping his head up.
"I'm so happy, Patrice," she answered back, just as soft, and just as lovingly.

"Ah, I see you liked the shirt I picked out for you," Patrice smiled as Jamie made her way into the kitchen, hair wet and tied up in a bun, the BERGERON shirt still covering her back.
"I do," she sang, tiptoeing her way over to him and peering over his bicep and into the frying pan. "I'm sure it was a total accident you picked it out of your dresser drawer in the dark of last night, right?" She asked, her voice high in laughter.
"Oh, totally," he joked with her. He caught her eyeing him over his shoulder and bent toward her, meeting her lips for a quick kiss. She looked at him, blushing but unafraid or unembarrassed over their eye contact. She smiled with her lips and a giggle escaped her, and with a quick turn of her hips she had disappeared behind him, somewhere in the kitchen.
"Your omelet is in the oven, staying warm. Veggies, no meat, eh?"
"Perfect," she said, licking her lips as she pulled the stainless steal metal door down.
She rounded the end of the granite counter top he had had her on last night and sat on a tall barstool facing him over the stovetop. She used her fork to cut off a corner of the egg masterpiece and pop it in her mouth. Savory and delightful.
Good in bed, and an amazing cook. Emily would be proud, she smiled to herself.
He placed a lid over the simmering pot and pulled open the fridge door.
"Milk?" He offered her. "Juice? Coffee?"
"Coffee!" She exclaimed as he nodded, removing a carton of milk from the refrigerator door for himself.
As he brewed coffee, he double checked his omelet and slid it out of the pan and onto a plate for himself. He leaned over the stove and set it next to Jamie.
"Y'know..." she began, thanking him for a cup of hot coffee and using her fork to point to where he stood, downing a glass of milk adjacent to her. "That's right about where we had some fun last night; where you ordered me to take off my tights."
He coughed into his glass of milk and immediately removed the glass from his lips, swallowed hard and rebuked.
"I did NOT!" He cried.
"Did too!" She joked, pointing at him with her fork.
"Oh my god," he said, flushing bright red and pouring the rest of his milk down the sink.
"'Fess up, Bergeron," she laughed, still making the accusing gesture with her fork.
"Oh my god, I did not. I did not DEMAND anything!"
"I believe your words were: take these off!" She loved how embarrassed he was. When they awoke this morning, she didn't know what--if anything--would change about him, about them, now that they had done some intimate exploring. It warmed her heart to know he was still modest, easily embarrassed, and somewhat naive in his romancing of her.
"Oh my god... no, no! I just--I couldn't form very many words, you had me all rilled up!" He took a heavy seat next to her and put his red face in his hands, shaking his head. Jamie had a good hearty laugh and rubbed his newly clad back.
He continued to be embarrassed as she continued to laugh, eventually leaning her head on his strong shoulder and pulling him in a half hug.
She didn't know why, but he had her glowing with self-confidence as of late.
"I'm just giving you a hard time, mon amour" she chuckled. She leaned toward him and kissed the side of his face and then handed him his fork. He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, slyly smirking.
"I probably would've stripped myself of them hadn't you asked anyways," she said, winking and taking a delicate bite of her omelet.