THE DUKE'S FORBIDDEN PROPHECY
That blush climbs up my neck, slow like syrup.
A sudden shift shadows his eyes, wide-awake now, sharp with intent. Looking down at my lips, he breaks the silence. "That's dangerous ground you're stepping on," he murmurs - tone deep, almost welcoming. The words warn, yet pull instead of push.
“Staying warm matters,” I say, voice already softening without meaning to. My fingers rest on his chest, spreading across skin that feels firm, alive with heat. Under my touch, his heart beats - sure, slow, constant.
Bab Populer