A shaft of golden morning sunlight infiltrated the slit in the bedroom curtains, drawing a blazing, cockeyed line across the face of her slumbering escort. Blythe had awoken nearly a half-hour earlier, discovering that sometime during the night she had dislodged herself from the c**k buried inside her and now rested at Wolfe’s side, his strong arm wrapped around her shoulder. One of her legs had curled between his hairy ones, and one of her hands lay in the center of his chest, rising and falling with every steady breath he took.
Even though the call of nature urged her to the bathroom to seek relief for her near-to-bursting bladder, she didn’t want to move. She just wanted to stare at his handsome profile, savor his masculine scent, bask in the warmth of his nudity, and celebrate his pow
