Like that he knew he would never be the same.

But he couldn’t think of that now, not with Nora getting closer and closer. At some point, they’d lost their shared patience for keeping their hands out of it; when his focus came back, she had one on his back and one on his ass; he had one pressed flat on the bed and the other on the back of her thigh, holding her open for the thrusts that had gotten harder, more insistent. He bit the inside of his cheek, not making the demand he wanted, not telling her to come, but as it turned out he didn’t need to, because Nora’s hips sped up beneath him, her nails scratching perfectly against his back as she bit down on her lip to quiet her moaning cry.

Don’t come, he commanded himself, wanting to see her all the way through it, wanting to feel fully every clutching pulse along his length. But it had been so long; he had waited so long to feel this with her, since the very—

“Will,” she said, lifting her head to lick up the side of his neck, dewy with the sweat of his exertion, and that did it; that was all it took. He groaned and stilled above her, grateful for her arms around him, grateful for the way she held him tight as he came apart. It was better, more intense, more complete than seeing stars; it was like becoming them, cut-up pieces of him scattered to the night. He said her name, once and then again, because nothing else would come to him, no other thought or feeling available. No pressure, no practicality, no responsibility. Nothing but Nora.

A perfect, unforgettable first.

Well, he didn’t see hell.

But he sure slept like the dead.

When he first woke, Nora was against him, not far from the spot she’d been in when she’d fallen asleep. Then, she’d tucked herself against his side, her head growing heavier against his shoulder and chest as she’d drifted off, the small muscles in her hands and feet occasionally twitching out whatever tension they’d held over the course of the day. Now, she’d shifted enough so that her head rested on his stomach, the smooth, straight strands of her hair draped across his bare chest, and without thinking he lifted a hand to them, stroking sleepily, barely conscious.

It wasn’t so unusual for Will to sleep hard, not after years of chaotic hospital schedules, long stretches of time where he wasn’t simply awake but also urgently awake, dealing-with-something-serious awake. A blank, consuming sleep after that wasn’t so much a pleasure as it was a necessity, his body simply giving out on him and going pitch dark with fatigue. But this waking up . . . this was different. Hesitant, when it almost always felt like he sat straight up; fuzzy, when he nearly always had the day’s schedule clear in his head. His eyes stayed closed and his mind stayed slow, not working through much of anything other than the soft tangles he found in Nora’s hair.