Bridgett The sun streamed through the heavy velvet curtains, painting lines of gold across the black silk sheets. I stretched, my body aching in the most delicious way possible. Every muscle felt loose, heavy, and satisfied. The lingering scent of sandalwood, rain, and raw masculinity clung to my skin, marking me more effectively than any tattoo. I reached out across the massive bed, seeking the heat source I had fallen asleep against. Cold silk. I opened my eyes. The space beside me was empty. Panic, irrational and sharp, spiked in my chest. «He left. It was a mistake. Post-clarity regret» "Relax, little wolf." The deep, rumbling voice came from the balcony door. I propped myself up on my elbows, pulling the sheet up to cover my nakedness. Jordan was standing there, leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing low-slung gray sweatpants and nothing else. His broad chest, marked with the faint scratches I had left there last night, rose and fell steadily. He held two mugs of
Magbasa pa
Mag-log in
