The crisp silk of Adam’s penthouse sheets whispered under his hand as he sought release, his mind a tight knot of sensation and the fading imprint of the woman from the hotel 5 years ago. Her green eyes, sharp and luminous as cut emeralds, were the clearest shard of that memory, a vivid point in the dissolving landscape of their encounter. He could almost catch the trailing edge of her scent, a delicate bloom with a deeper musk beneath, a ghost of perfume he couldn’t quite name, like a half-remembered melody.
His hand moved with a practiced rhythm, each stroke a phantom echo of their shared intimacy. He remembered the lean grace of her body under his touch, the soft weight of her breasts filling his palms, a sensation that still hummed in his nerves. The carnal memory of her inner clasp,
