KIERAN’S POV
I woke to cool sheets and space.
For one disorienting second, I lay still, staring at emptiness, trying to decide whether the night before was a memory or a fever dream.
My body ached in that deep, satisfying way that came from being thoroughly, repeatedly ravished.
Ashar was quiet for once—sated, if not entirely appeased.
But the bed beside me was cold.
Movement caught my attention, and I turned my head.
Sera stood near the dresser, fully dressed.
Sunlight spilled through the half-drawn curtains, gilding her in pale morning light. She wore fitted charcoal slacks and a soft cream blouse that draped elegantly over her frame. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek, low knot, exposing the clean line of her neck.
I sat up slowly, my gaze zeroing in on her neck.
There were no visible marks. No flush. No lingering disarray that suggested she’d spent the better part of last night and early this morning writhing and moaning beneath me.
And then something else hit me.
