Lucien.
At first glance, it was just another morning. The same coffee, the same desk, the same rhythm. But beneath the surface, something was different.
I felt it in the air, Amara’s restless energy. Her body had woken to me before her mind did.
The dreams I fed her clung still, a ghost pulse beneath her skin, a faint flush when she walked into my office with her coffee. She tried to bury it beneath a mask of composure, but I could feel it. I could taste it. Desire woven with confusion.
A perfect recipe.
She avoided my eyes as she set the mug on the desk. Her hand shook, subtle, but not enough to hide from me. That faint tremor told me everything she wouldn’t say.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the mug as my fingers brushed hers, deliberately.
A jolt went through her, her pulse leap
