“Messy enough for you?”
Ali hummed. The rain had eased, and a cold spring sun was pouring light across the hotel room. All but one sheet had been dumped on the floor; one of the pillows had somehow ended up in the ensuite. The remaining sheet was tangled around their waists. Yazid, sprawled on his front in the rumpled, stained remains of the mattress protector, was a naked temptation made of smooth skin and relaxed muscles.
Ali started tracing patterns over the loose lines of Yazid’s shoulder, and smiled hazily.
“C’mere,” Yazid mumbled, lifting an arm, but Ali tucked it between them and shifted closer to slide his hand up that slender spine.
There was something enticingly innocent and vulnerable about someone’s bare back, even if Ali was admiring it from a s*x-stained bed and with the
