Side story 6. Devon.

The morning sun peeks through the sheer curtains of our Italian hotel room, casting a soft, golden glow over the ivory sheets that cradle my wife's slumbering form. The room is bathed in a tranquil silence, a stark contrast to the passionate symphony that played out here just hours ago. Rubbing my eyes open, I reach for my glasses and put them on, watching as my gaze clears up before turning back to the sleeping woman beside me.

I can't help but smile as I lay there, propped up on my elbow, and watch her sleep. Jessica's chestnut hair spills across the pillow, framing her delicate face like a cascade of silk. Her lips, now gently parted in the peaceful surrender of sleep, still carry the rosy flush of our shared passion. My gaze trails down to her half-exposed breasts and waist, all bearing marks of my possession, adorn her skin like love notes written in the language of desire.

A sense of possessiveness washes over me as I trace the path my fingers took last night, over the curve of