Chapter 7

The light was the first thing to breach the veil of my sleep, a sharp, golden spear slicing through the heavy velvet drapes of the hotel suite. It wasn’t the harsh, fluorescent glare of an office or the dim, amber glow of a club, but the soft, rising sun of a Tuesday morning, painting the city skyline in hues of rose and gold. I blinked, my vision blurry, my body heavy with the pleasant lethargy of complete exhaustion. I didn’t move immediately. I couldn’t. I was pinned, not by force, but by the solid, warm weight of him resting against me. His arm was a iron band across my waist, his hand splayed possessively over the dip of my hip, fingers still curved slightly as if he were afraid I might dissolve into the sheets if he let go. I could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing against my back, the rise and fall of his broad chest creating a slow, rhythmic tide that pulled me deeper into the mattress. I turned my head on the silk pillow, the fabric cool against my cheek, and looked at him. He was asleep, or at least drifting in that hazy space