Lucas’s POVThe morning light poured through the half-drawn curtains, slicing across the bed in pale gold stripes. I sat at the edge, fingers brushing over the creases on my trousers, willing my mind to stop wandering. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror opposite the bed—hair slightly tousled, jaw set, eyes too heavy for someone who had barely lived through dawn.Behind me, the sheets rustled softly.“Lucas…” her voice was light, coaxing, dripping with honeyed sleep. I didn’t have to turn around to know she was smiling. I could feel it—the deliberate warmth in her tone, the subtle tug at my restraint.I exhaled, already feeling the unease coil around my chest. “You should get more rest,” I murmured, buttoning the cuff of my shirt.The bed dipped as she shifted, and before I knew it, slender arms slid around my waist. Her skin was warm, and she pressed her cheek against my back. “Or,” she whispered, “you could stay… just a little longer. It’s still early, husband.”The word
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