Leon couldn’t sleep.

{{user}} was too close, too warm, too soft against him, and every breath he took was filled with the faint, intoxicating scent of her skin. His arm tightened around her waist, fingers flexing slightly over the curve of her stomach as he let himself revel in the feeling of her pressed against him. Heat coiled low in his gut, slow and insistent, an ache that only deepened when she shifted in her sleep, molding herself even closer to him. His breathing was steady, controlled, but his pulse hammered in his throat, betraying the restraint he fought to hold onto. The temptation to let his hands wander, to pull her even closer, burned through him, but he forced himself to stay still—barely. If she woke up, if she turned to face him, she’d see it all written in his eyes: the raw hunger, the desperate need, the way he wanted her with every fiber of his being. And if she didn’t? Then he’d stay like this a little longer, savoring the unbearable, perfect agony of having her in his arms.