I woke tangled in sheets that smelled like s*x, danger, and him.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains in golden slants, soft and warm as it spilled across Adrian’s bare shoulders. The light caught on the curve of his back, kissed the ridges of old scars I’d once traced with my tongue. His chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm that didn’t match the storm still thrumming inside me.
He looked younger in sleep.
Less like the man the world feared—ruthless, cold, untouchable—and more like the boy who used to watch me from across the room and pretend not to care. The boy who used to carve my initials into his notebooks. Who used to sneak into my room through the balcony and swear he’d never let anything touch me.
My fingers hovered above the curve of his spine.
I didn’t touch him.
God,
