Rayla lay in Asher’s arms, her body still humming with the aftershocks of their intimacy. She was wearing his T-shirt, the fabric soft against her skin and carrying his scent, which wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. Her head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby, but she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eyes. The memory of her moans, his name spilling from her lips in a way that felt both foreign and exhilarating, echoed in her mind. The pleasure he had given her, the way his tongue had sent jolts of electricity through her body, left her cheeks flushed and her heart fluttering even now.
But as the haze of pleasure began to fade, a different feeling crept in—jealousy. The thought of Asher being so skilled, so experienced, made her
