Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of the Singapore suite, painting the room in soft golds. I woke slowly, cocooned in warmth. Dario’s arm draped possessively across my waist, his chest rising and falling steadily against my back. The events of last night replayed in vivid detail: the way his hands had mapped my body, the intense focus in his eyes as he brought me over the edge again and again, the raw sound of his release. My body ached in the best way, a delicious reminder that this was real. We had crossed a line with no going back.
I shifted carefully, turning to face him. His eyes were already open, watching me with that quiet intensity that used to unsettle me. Now it felt like safety.
“Good morning,” he murmured, voice husky with sleep. His fingers traced lazy patte
