Mason Graves
The morning sun slipped through the curtains in golden streaks, painting her skin like a masterpiece. Serena was curled on her side, facing me, her hair a dark cascade across the pillow, silky and wild. One of her hands was tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting against the blanket that had slipped dangerously low on her hips. The marks I’d left on her last night peeked out like whispers of secrets we’d shared in the dark.
Her lashes fluttered slightly with every breath. Her lips—still parted, still slightly swollen—drew my gaze like a magnet. I could still taste her in my mouth. Still feel the heat of her gasps, her moans, her surrender. I watched her for a long moment, letting the stillness settle in my chest.
There was something about waking up next to her that calm
