There was always a warmth beside her, like a personal heater, comforting her. Avery Jane sighed deeply. When she woke up, her entire body was sore, with a hint of pain and that swelling feeling. A possessive large hand was tightly encircling her waist; Avery didn't dare to move, just slightly opened her eyes in the thin morning light, and saw his chiseled face, the lines on it sharp as if carved by a knife.
The traces left by time on his face were not ones of aging but rather like a rich, mellow wine, becoming more intoxicating as time went on. Such a man is naturally a favorite of destiny, and it is no surprise that many admiring female glances linger on his presence. His scent permeates her breath, a faint tobacco aroma, combined with the masculine and slightly wild aura that emanates from him, enveloping her completely within his breath, rendering her immobile.
