The suite was still warm with steam from the bathroom when Dax came back from his dressing room, fastening the last button of his dark shirt. He'd expected to find Chris sitting up, maybe picking at the breakfast tray or bristling at the cameras the way he had the night before. Instead, the omega had drifted back into sleep, sprawled across the bed, one hand curled near his face.
Dax paused in the doorway, a faint pulse of disappointment going through him. He had wanted another hour with him awake, more time to coax, to measure the edges of that sharp mouth and sharper mind. Now, with the covers rising and falling against a narrow chest, there was only the slow, even breathing of exhaustion.
