The next morning, Elora woke up to unfamiliar warmth wrapping around her. Her senses snapped to attention as the realization of Azazeal's presence hit her like a jolt.
She stayed still, her back against his chest, his muscular arm wrapped around her and his hand resting disturbingly comfortably on her bosom.
Heat flooded her cheeks when she saw their legs were entwined, his body curled around hers as if to protect her.
His breath washed over her neck, at a slow, steady pace, ruffling a few stray strands of hair.
A quick sweep of her memory reminded her of why he was on the bed with her, and she remembered he had comforted her after her nightmare.
She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her throat. This intimacy-this closeness-was uncharted territory, and she was unsure if she should feel outraged or mortified, or something worse: comforted.
She uneasily slowly began to turn over, working her body out of his clutches quietly.
