Amara POV.
Morning arrived softly, filtering through the sheer curtains in pale ribbons of gold that stretched lazily across the bedroom.
The light warmed my bare shoulder while the hum of the city beyond the glass felt distant and unimportant.
For a long moment, I did not open my eyes. I simply lay there, suspended between sleep and memory, aware of the unfamiliar weight of contentment resting low in my chest.
Then it came back to me.
His mouth. His hands. The way his voice had dropped when he told me to look at him.
Heat bloomed beneath my skin before I even moved. A slow smile curved across my lips as the fragments replayed themselves without mercy. The way he had watched me as though nothing in the world could command his attention more completely.
The way he had asked if I was
