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It wasn’t until you had spent your first night with Elliott that you discovered he was indeed, able to grow stubble.
You weren’t under some strange notion that he wasn’t capable of it, but the man presented himself in such a way that had you almost believing the gods of attractiveness themselves had simply graced him with perfectly smooth skin.
So, on that first morning, when the sun finally won your attention over the soothing crash of waves and the cry of gulls, the two of you woke tangled up in bed – tangled up in each other – gloriously naked.
Elliott was wrapped firmly around you. The warmth of his body and rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your back had lulled you into a state of relaxation much longer than you normally would have allowed. In all honesty, you cannot remember the last time you had such a good sleep.
One long arm was slung low over your hip, thumb tracing circles along your skin, the other, cradled under your head. As he woke fully, his arms instinctively pulled you closer.
“G’morning my muse,” he murmured, voice low and raspy as it ghosted over the shell of your ear. His lips made quick work of finding that spot along the nape of your neck – the one that had you shivering in delight last night.
Elliott’s lips were wonderfully soft. Perhaps that was why when you so acutely felt the gentle brush of stubble tickle your skin. Regardless of the reason, you couldn’t help it. You laughed in delight.
Elliott pulled back, mildly confused, mostly endeared.
"Has the light of day broken the spell cast over our evening together my darling?" There’s a dreamy, jovial tone to his words, accompanied by a volley of kisses that had you giggling and squirming in his arms.
When you did finally manage to wiggle around and face him, he was all fake apologies and mischief.
"It's your stubble," you confess. “It tickles.”
You quickly abandon further notions of rising from the bed as his lips find yours.
"Lies," he murmurs, nosing his way down your neck, seeking further access to the most sensitive parts of your skin. "I do not grow something as pedestrian as stubble. You simply must be mistaken."
"Elliott," you began, a light chuckle bubbling to the surface. "I know what I felt."
"Mhm. And pray tell, what was that?"
He's absolutely shameless now that he knows your weakness, lavishing your neck in slow, luxurious kisses.
“Well, it feels like, like ahh—” your hand instinctively reaches out, tangling through his hair while his cheek brushes along the length of your collarbone. “You did that on purpose,” you huff.
Elliott just laughs, kissing back up the path he just forged.
“I did nothing of the sort,” he retorts, utterly unrepentant. “My muse, I am shocked that you would accuse me of such rascality. It’s quite unbecoming.”
He goes quiet, pensive. You can see it in his eyes, the way he’s calculating his next move. Elliott doesn’t speak – there’s no need – just repositions himself over you, hips bracketed between your thighs. His whole body draped over yours, giving your fingers free access to memorize the plains of his shoulders, the span of his back; finally able to see in the daylight what you experienced through touch alone in the dark of his room last night.
Elliott props himself up on his shoulders, not wanting to put his full weight on you, but you don’t think you’d mind one bit. You’re too busy loving the way your bodies naturally fit so well together.
“You know,” you say, pretending to be nonchalant, “the way the light is filtering in through the window just now…”
He smiles dreamily down at you, probably expecting something poetic. Instead, you fight dirty. “It looks like your beard would be the loveliest shade of ginger, BAH—”
Elliott doesn’t let you continue that thought, opting instead, to press his face back to your skin, poised against your fluttering stomach as you try not to laugh.
“That was a low blow, my muse,” he grins. “I should demonstrate just how much I do not have stubble by running my jaw all down your body.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” You start, shiver running through your entire body as little laughs break free in a futile attempt to remain still; the anticipation of what’s to come nearly overwhelming. Every time you move, you’re rewarded with Elliott’s prickly chin inching closer and closer.
“Of course,” he grins, carefully using only his lips to press a careful kiss to your stomach. “This silly game can end here and now if you just admit that I—”
Kiss.
“Don’t.”
Kiss.
“Have.”
Kiss.
“Stubble.”
Kiss.
His eyes never leave your face, and holy yoba, why haven’t you ever realized the utter power this man wields over you with just a look? Witnessing his long, lean lines crawling over you in the golden morning sun – cutting a path down your body with lips and sighs alone – is turning your insides to pure liquid.
Stars, how it tickles. The rough drag of his stubble drawing out goosebumps in their wake like he’s on a path of pure destruction.
“How smooth do I feel now, beloved?”
Uugh, the man is even pulling out a “beloved” this early in the relationship, clearly meant to throw you off. Well, two can play at that game.
“Still scratchy, my heart. I would be ever so grateful if the love of my life would acknowledge and deal with his sandpaper skin this morning.”
It has the desired effect. Elliott comes to a standstill, face poised directly above your abdomen, pupils blown wide as he stares up at you, completely spellbound.
“Love of your life?” he whispers. “Truly?”
Whoops, you think. You hadn’t meant for it to land like that. So early, so new. Thought he would take it as a joke the way you had simply assumed with the term beloved. Unless…
When searching his face for any signs of misconception, you find none. Only a raw, aching hope that cuts deeper than the little pinpricks of hair along your skin.
Even more surprising is when you search yourself, you find that you mean it. That you want it to be true.
Now it’s your turn to falter. “I know it’s early days and all… and I didn’t mean to blurt it out and put you on the spot like that—”
Elliott crawls back up your body, silencing you with a kiss. “Not what I asked, my muse,” he whispers. His eyes still containing that fragile hope as he waits.
You nod shakily, nervous. Past relationships had always been so damn hard. You don’t think you’d ever figure out why it was so easy with him, nor do you really care, so long as you can keep him.
“Truly? I think I’ve known for a while now. I just didn’t know how to say it, and I certainly didn’t mean to say it like that,” you laugh uncertainly. “I hope… well, I hope that’s not a problem. We can go as slow as you want—”
This time when he kisses you, it’s with his whole body; deep and desperate and perfect. His reply in words, no longer needed. The message coming through loud and clear.
When you finally come up for air, it’s with soft, tender “I love you’s,” and one very happy Elliott.
So, this is it, you think. He’s yours… stubble and all. It warms you right to your core. Heart aching, ready to burst with all you want to say.
Of course, the first thing that slips out is “you should not shave more often.”
Elliott just grins before diving back in. Determined to draw out this morning, and all the ones that follow for as long as possible.