Chapter 40: Echoes of Him.

Riley's POV

The room feels too still, like it’s holding its breath with me.

Michael’s hand is still on my hip, not moving, just resting there like it belongs. His palm is warm and heavy, like an anchor that I can’t tell if I want to shake off… or pull closer.

The sheets stick slightly to my skin. My body is still flushed, covered in a fine sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried. I stare up at the ceiling, watching the faint dance of city light filtering through the half-closed blinds, broken lines of gold and shadow stretching like quiet wounds across the white paint.

I try not to breathe too deeply, try not to shift. Because if I do, I might feel too much. Might remember too much.

His scent lingers, cologne softened by skin and heat and something rawer. Musk and salt and whatever cologne he wore that now smells like sex and secrets. I hate that I like it. I hate that I want to inhale it like it’ll keep me grounded.

He hasn’t said a word since.

Neither have I.

And yet, the sile