Wren
I woke up with the strange feeling that someone was watching me.
Sunlight slipped through the gaps in Damon’s thick curtains, casting warm golden lines across the messy bed. My whole body ached in a deep, delicious way a reminder of last night, of the restaurant, the car, and what happened for hours afterward in this bed. I shifted slightly, wincing at the soreness between my thighs.
That’s when I saw Damon watching me.
He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, head resting on his hand. His eyes weren’t sleepy they were focused, intense, like he was memorizing every inch of me. The curve of my hip under the sheet, my hair spread over his pillow.
“Morning,” he said, voice rough from sleep, low and soft. His free hand hovered just above my cheek, fingers tracing the air
