Scarlett
When I wake, I’m still knotted to him.
My face is smushed between the massive slabs of his chest, buried right in the groove between his ridiculously firm pectorals. I should probably be embarrassed, or worried I’m squishing him, but Rhodes is built like the Alpha and Lycan King that he is. I could probably sprawl over him like a weighted blanket and he wouldn’t even blink.
It’s...kind of nice. I must admit.
He’s warm and still and lazy beneath me, one giant hand dragging over my bare back in slow, absentminded strokes. Then he shifts, sliding his hand down my side and gripping the soft flesh of my love handles. His fingers curl around them possessively.
I tense. “Don’t touch my fat belly,” I mutter, cheeks burning.
His hand doesn’t move. Instead, he lets out a sleepy sound
