Later, much later, they lay in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets. He was drawing lazy circles on her stomach. She was staring at the ceiling, a small, satisfied smile on her face.
She smiled, a secret, slow curve of her lips. She heard the sheets rustle, the soft pad of his feet on the cool floor. Then his hands were on her shoulders, sliding down her arms, wrapping around her from behind. His chest was warm against her back. His lips found the spot just below her ear.
He cupped her face. “This is better.”
Gianna turned her head, looking at him. The artist. The morning light. The promise in his dark eyes. x art gianna morning tryst
She leaned against the stone balustrade, watching the sea turn from slate to sapphire. The scent of jasmine and salt clung to the air.
She had a feeling this tryst was just the beginning.
“Stay,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Later, much later, they lay in a tangle
There were no words for a while. Just soft gasps, the whisper of his name on her lips, the way her back arched as he kissed a path down her stomach. He learned her all over again—the hitch in her breath when he touched her ribs, the way she pulled him closer when he teased.
“How so?”
She slipped out from under his arm. The air was cool on her bare skin. She didn’t reach for the silk robe draped over the chair. Instead, she walked to the open French doors, the morning breeze making her shiver as it kissed the curve of her spine, the back of her thighs. She smiled, a secret, slow curve of her lips
His voice was a low rumble, thick with sleep. She didn’t turn around.
“You took the warmth with you.”