Seraphine's breath caught as awareness flooded her — the solid, unmistakable weight pressing against her belly, thick and warm, pulsing in slow rhythm like the beat of a drum beneath skin. Only the soft stretch of Leon's shorts separated her from his cock, and even that felt like a veil over fire.
It throbbed — steady, insistent — as if it could feel her gaze, her breath, her hunger.
She didn't move at first. Just breathed, felt. The memory of last night lingered — how they'd chosen closeness over craving, warmth over want. It had calmed her then. But now?
Now, in the hush of dawn, the bed warmed by their bodies, and the room alive with the quiet magic of stone shaped by Leon's hands, that restraint began to crack.
A slow ache unfurled in her belly, heavy and slick.
She let her hand drift down, fingers tracing the sculpted lines of his abdomen. His skin was warm, his breathing slow — steady as a mountain. He didn't stir.
Her fingers found the waistband of his shorts.
