“Javier…” His name escaped in a whisper, caught somewhere between disbelief and panic. I set the phone back down on the bed with careful hands, then immediately tried to peel his arm away from me. My voice sharpened in hushed urgency. “Why are you still here? Don’t you have work? It’s still a weekday!”
Silence.
No explanation. No excuse.
Instead, he buried his face closer to my neck, inhaling deeply as if committing my scent to memory. A low hum rumbled from his chest, vibrating softly against my skin, and rather than loosening, his arm only tightened—unyielding, possessive, unrelenting.
“Javier,” I said again, my voice soft as I tapped his arm. No reaction.
I tried a few more times, poking lightly at his bicep, before I finally felt him stir behind me. Hopeful, I turned to face him,
