The room was dark—the kind of dark that came at 2:47 AM when even LA's light pollution couldn't penetrate blackout curtains that cost more than my old wardrobe.
Madison slept beside me, one arm draped across my chest, her bare skin warm and soft against mine, breathing deep and even with the peaceful unconsciousness of someone who'd had three glasses of wine and knew she was safe.
Her thigh was slung over my hip, the heat of her pussy pressed lightly against my side through the thin sheet, a lazy, possessive claim even in sleep.
I wasn't asleep. Hadn't been for the last hour. Just lay there in the dark, processing the weight of normalcy from dinner—the arguments, the laughter, Mom's threat to abandon us for reality TV if we didn't stop being dramatic.
The family chaos that felt more valuable than every supernatural ability I'd collected. My cock still half-hard from the memory of Jasmine's taste on the balcony, her broken moans echoing in my skull like a filthy lullaby.
