As if it would never end

I know this is a little long, but please- do read it all the way through. And when you're done, rate it quick and if you would, I'd love to hear what you think of it. Thanks.

I woke up to sunlight streaming across my face. Delightfully sore from dancing, I stretched, joyfully aware of being alive. And being happier than I'd been in a long time. Maybe ever. I rolled over and reached across the bed... and felt nothing but rumpled sheets. I sighed. A wonderful night or a beautiful dream? Either way, it was nice while it lasted. And either way, it had disappeared with the dawn. I snuggled back down into my pillow and tried to recover a wisp of my delicious dream when I heard a key in the lock. Then the door opened and there he was. As real and glorious as he'd been in the night. He moved toward the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. He came with gifts- a cup of coffee and the mornings paper. He crossed to the window and pulled back the curtains to stare out into the street. The warm sun filled the brilliantly blue sky. But all I saw was him. And it was a beautiful morning. With a sigh I opened the newspaper, and gasped. There, tucked in the fold, was a flower. A simple one. The kind of wildflower that shoots up against all odds from a crack in the battered sidewalks. It was the most beautiful flower I'd ever seen.
"Anything in the paper?" he asked without turning around.
"Nope" I said with a smile, and slid the flower behind my ear. Then I picked up the paper again, trying hard not to adore this wonderful man. "You watched me sleep last night," I said casually.
"Did I?" he asked, feigning ignorance.
I snuggled back against the pillows and stretched my arms above my head. "What did you see?"
"What did he see...?" He turned around and leaned against the windowsill, studying me as if I were some great painting he's purchased and just unwrapped in his own home. I took this moment to stare at him as well, framed by the window's morning glow. I came to the conclusion that the man could give Michelangeloa's 'David' an inferiority complex. "He saw himself flying home and wishing he's known her middle name," he said at last. "And hers?" His answer surprised me. I was touched, and falling quickly under his spell. It was a lovely feeling, a part of me thought. And far too dangerous, countered another. Many words sprang to my lips. I was very good at games of the heart, so I knew to keep things light, flirtations.
"She saw herself walking through Chinatown," I said, "and wondering how he felt about jazz." A clever, sexy line, I decided.
"And he," he vollied, "thought that maybe there was something more sublime than the perfect putt on the eighteenth green on a sunny Sunday morning." Be still my heart, my grin answered, as I drew the covers up to my chin.
"And she thought how much he'd lover her lemon cake," I said playfully. Suddenly he was towering over me and the playfulness in his voice was replace by an intensity that took my breath away.
"He suspected that last night would be the night by which all nights were measured." His eyes dared me to step out from behind the security of coy phrases.
And so, in spite of being scared, I answered honestly. "And she agreed." He leaned down, his face inches from min, his blue eyes guarded. So. We were both afraid. And with that knowledge, a giddiness began to bubble up in my heart.
"What happens next?" he whispered.
"Everything," I said. He growled like a starving tiger as we fell into each other's arms, into a kiss that felt as if it would never end.