#Chapter139
I had never understood why Deacon liked to sleep with his bedroom curtains open, but as the early morning light seeped in, creeping over his naked form, I found myself unable to complain. His flesh had risen with goosebumps as the chilly air lathered it, the blanket having been kicked halfway down the bed.
Like black satin against the white of the pillowcase, his hair spilt out like tendrils of ink. His eyes fluttered behind his lids as he dreamed, and his chest rose and fell to a steady beat as he slept on.
I was sat up, knees drawn to my chest, just watching him. I wanted to touch him; it felt more acceptable to admire him without his knowledge. I watched as the creeping shadows shifted and climbed along his cheeks, falling into his eyes, dancing along his arms and shimmering across his pecs.
