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Forty-Eight: The Morning After the Armor Cracked
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2025-06-26 15:30:42Adam Lewiston
I didn’t remember falling asleep. But I remembered the warmth. A gentle, pervasive heat that seeped into my bones, chasing away the perpetual chill that clung to me.I woke slowly, the pale light of morning bleeding through the curtains in soft, golden stripes across the room. My mind surfaced from the quiet stillness of sleep, not in alarm—but in something calmer. Something… foreign.My body felt heavy. Relaxed. Comfortable. Which was strange. I never slept this well. I never let myself. Sleep was a luxury, a vulnerability I couldn’t afford.And then I felt it—movement against my chest. The soft, rhythmic rise and fall of someone breathing. Close. Too close to be a dream. A subtle weight pressed against me, anchoring me to the here and now.I opened my eyes.And there he was.Lu.Curled against me, his face tucked beneath my chin, one hand resting loosely on my chest like it belonged there. His ot
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The Billionaire's Sunshine Forty-Eight: The Morning After the Armor Cracked
Adam LewistonI didn’t remember falling asleep. But I remembered the warmth. A gentle, pervasive heat that seeped into my bones, chasing away the perpetual chill that clung to me.I woke slowly, the pale light of morning bleeding through the curtains in soft, golden stripes across the room. My mind surfaced from the quiet stillness of sleep, not in alarm—but in something calmer. Something… foreign.My body felt heavy. Relaxed. Comfortable. Which was strange. I never slept this well. I never let myself. Sleep was a luxury, a vulnerability I couldn’t afford.And then I felt it—movement against my chest. The soft, rhythmic rise and fall of someone breathing. Close. Too close to be a dream. A subtle weight pressed against me, anchoring me to the here and now.I opened my eyes.And there he was.Lu.Curled against me, his face tucked beneath my chin, one hand resting loosely on my chest like it belonged there. His ot
The Billionaire's Sunshine Forty-Seven: What Burns And What Stays
Adam LewistonAfter our intense, passionate lovemaking session in the penthouse bathroom, I scooped a still trembling Lu into my strong arms. I refused to break our heated kiss, groaning into Lu's mouth as we bumped and lurched down the hallway, hips grinding together.Lu clung to me, returning my ardent kisses with equal fervor. Our naked bodies slid against each other, slick with sweat and lingering arousal. Lu whimpered needily, desire already building again despite our recent coupling.Finally, we reached my avish bedroom. I carried Lu to the plush king-sized bed, lowering us both onto the silken sheets. I settled my bulk over Lu, never releasing my lips from his. I kissed Lu with a heady mix of lust, tenderness, and a hint of something else... something deeper.Lu responded eagerly, welcoming my weight, my heat. We caressed each other with touches that were both intimately familiar yet electric with passion. Urgent hands roamed and squeezed.
The Billionaire's Sunshine Forty-Six: Hope Wears Old Leather
Dominus VaneThe first thing I registered was the darkness. It wrapped around the apartment like a thick blanket—still, quiet, and too empty. My eyes adjusted slowly. The ceiling above me unfamiliar, the couch beneath me stiff and worn from use. My body ached, especially my side, where Lu had stitched me up like some broken doll.I sat up slowly with a sharp hiss, my hand instinctively reaching for my wound. Still tender. But it was healing. That meant he had taken care of me. Even when I didn't deserve it.The low hum of the city filtered through the windows, muffled behind glass. I glanced around. No movement. No Lu. The silence amplified the frantic rhythm of my own heart.“Sunshine?” I called softly, voice raspy from disuse. The nickname felt foreign on my tongue, a relic of a past life.Nothing.Then I saw it. A small stack of clothes neatly folded on the coffee table, beside it a note scrawled in familiar handwriting. My na
The Billionaire's Sunshine Forty-Five: Where The Fire Meets The Flood
Adam LewistonThe water cascaded over my shoulders as I stood in the steamy shower cubicle, lost in thought. The day had been long and emotionally unsettling, and the hot spray was finally starting to melt away the tension coiled in my muscles. Suddenly, the sound of the bathroom door clicking open jolted me out of my reverie. It was a soft, almost imperceptible sound, but amplified by the echoing tiles, it snapped me to attention. Curious and confused, I wiped the fogging glass with my palm, the water still pouring down. Who would be coming in here?My brows furrowed in bewilderment as I saw Lu standing just inside the door, closing it quietly behind him and locking it with a soft click. My heart skipped a beat. What was he doing? Barging in while I was showering?Lu's passionate eyes were fixed intently on mine through the glass. The steam swirling around his head seemed to halo him, turning him into something ethereal and impossibly desirable. There was
The Billionaire's Sunshine Forty-Four: The Fiance Effect
Adam LewistonThe air was lighter now. The stifling tension that had clung to the early part of the evening, a product of navigating Gracian’s sharp wit and discerning palate, had dissipated with the last bottle of Chateau Margaux. Lu’s laughter echoed through the penthouse as we walked Gracian toward the elevator. Lu kept close at my side, still slightly flushed from the wine—or perhaps from the compliments Gracian had showered him with during dinner. James followed discreetly a few steps behind, polite as ever but observant.“I have to say,” Gracian said as we neared the doors, his hand resting on the cool metal, “it’s been a long time since I’ve had such a memorable dinner. And the chef…” He glanced at Lu with a warm smile, “well, he’s one to watch.”Lu gave a nervous chuckle and dipped his head slightly. “Thank you, sir.”Gracian looked at me next. “But forgive me for asking, Adam…” His tone had shifted just slightly, just enough to draw atten
The Billionaire's Sunshine Forty-Three: To Be Tasted, To Be Seen
Lillium Roosevelt The smell hit me before the plates even touched the table—pan-seared ribeye, perfectly rested, dressed in a glossy garlic herb butter, the aroma rich and heady. Alongside it, I’d plated a generous swirl of homemade tagliatelle, tossed in a simple but velvety sauce made from butter, cracked pepper, and a splash of the ribeye’s own juices. It wasn’t flashy. It was soulful. The kind of meal someone might make if they wanted to say something without speaking at all.The waiters moved with the grace of a choreographed act, placing the plates down with a quiet reverence. I kept my hands folded on my lap, trying to sit still, trying to keep my eyes off Adam—who, as usual, was impossible not to glance at. His dark hair, usually slicked back with purpose, was slightly dishevelled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. His eyes, a startling shade of grey, held an intensity that always felt like a spotlight on my soul.He hadn’t said much s
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