Desmond Loupé
Desmond stood at the stove, the sound of sizzling eggs and the smell of crispy bacon filling the kitchen. The morning sun poured through the large windows, casting a soft golden light over everything. He moved with a practiced ease, flipping hashbrowns, stirring eggs, and plating everything with a meticulous care that reflected his usual attention to detail. His muscles rippled with every movement, his bare chest exposed as he worked, the quiet hum of the morning not quite enough to drown out the rush of thoughts that had been swirling through his head since last night.
The kiss. That damn kiss.
It had been impossible to ignore, impossible to hold back, but when she'd pressed her lips to his, when her hands had clung to him and her body had arched into his, he'd felt his
