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This isn’t that.

I still feel him as surely as I did last night. His hand moves slowly up and down my back, like a whisper tracing my spine.

I curl into him.

The beating in his chest, I swear it amplifies, rushing to meet my own.

Early morning light spills in through the partially open blinds, casting soft, golden lines across the floor where our clothes lay. My focus lingers on the desk, and I feel my cheeks prickle with heat as memories from last night flicker through me.

I’m still sore. In more places than one. And my head feels light, like when you blow up too many balloons at a party. It’s not unpleasant. It’s the kind of weightless you encounter after a storm.

His hand comes to a stop at the dip of my waist, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Morning.”

I turn at the sound of his voice, the movement slow and careful. Behind me, I feel him shift too, his body instinctively adjusting to mine, like we’ve done this a hundred times before. The sheets rustle softly between us as we settle. Eyes meeting. Breath syncing.

He smells of the earth, cedar and pine. It’s always been a scent that comforted me, even if the person it was attached to brought nothing but discontent.

Rhenn works his jaw like he has something to say. His focus holds mine, soft and unreadable, as if he’s weighing the words sitting on his tongue. I press my fingers to his lips before he can let them out. “If you open your mouth, you’re going to ruin this.”

Rhenn’s smile curves beneath my touch. He trails his thumb along my cheek, down to my neck, pausing when he reaches the hollow of my collarbone.

I can’t help but watch him observing the skin where his fingers meet, wondering what’s going on in his head right now. Mine’s entirely messy, torn between the regret of giving him my vulnerability and the awe of how carefully he held it.

Gray eyes flick back to mine. The depth and intensity behind them have something fluttering inside my chest. Maybe it’s the memory of his mouth on mine, or maybe I’m not yet cleansed from the faerie wine.

A cold breeze drifts in through the cracked window, rustling the messy strands of hair that fall across his face. The chill hits my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms, and I bite my bottom lip.

“Should I close that?” he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep.

I shake my head, welcoming the fresh air as I let my eyelids fall shut.

The reality of what we’ve done hasn’t fully sunk in yet, and I’m wanting to take in the calmness of this moment before it’s broken. Before my senses come back to slap me in the face.

I’d had a few drinks. Probably more than I should have. It landed me here. In his bed. But not because I was drunk. The alcohol numbed a certain fractured piece in me. It didn’t make me do something with Rhenn. It allowed me to.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?” I ask absently, stretching my legs down the length of the bed.

Two fingers caress the outer corner of my right eye. “Take these away.”

My heart stumbles over itself, forcing my focus back on him. I’d always thought the mismatched shades of my irises made me look strange. But he’s looking at them like they’re the most captivating colors he’s ever seen.

I swallow, lowering my head. Compliments have never sat right with me. I don’t know how to hold them, how to believe them. And a compliment from him…what do I even say?

So instead, I lead the conversation in a different direction, addressing him nervously. “Hey, Rhenn…” I let out a breath. “Did you, um, you wore a condom, right?”

His brows fall together with a look of uncertainty, as if trying to piece something together. “What?”

My eyes widen, a tight knot forming in my stomach. “You didn’t use a condom?”

“What the fuck is a condom?”

“Seriously!?” I sit up, hugging the blanket against me. “Do you people not use protection?”

Rhenn rises to sit as well, running his fingers through his hair. Unlike me, he doesn’t bring the sheets with him, and they slide to his lap.

My eyes fall against my will, traveling over his bare chest. Definition and firm lines sculpt his body. Not heavily muscular, but fit. The right amount of lean mixed with a heavy dusting of please let me touch. Because he can’t just be attractive. He needs to be a whole damn fantasy.