The thoughts return before I can stop them.
They always do.
I’ll be brushing my hair in the quiet of my room, or folding linen beside the window, and suddenly Kael is there not in flesh, but in feeling. In the way my chest tightens when I imagine the space he takes up. In the warmth I swear would radiate from him if I stood close enough.
It’s foolish.
And yet… it feels inevitable.
I imagine his hands, not roaming, not demanding but steady. Certain. As if they would know exactly where to rest without asking permission. I imagine the solid press of his chest, bare and unguarded, the slow rise and fall of it beneath my palm.
The thought makes my cheeks burn.
I press my fingers to my lips, half ashamed, half breathless.
Sweet, I think.
Terrifying, too.
Because wanting Kael is not lik
