Phei guided her into the master suite, the city's glow filtering through sheer curtains like starlight on water. He didn't flick on the harsh overhead lights—just the low amber sconces that turned the room into something hushed and sacred.
Sierra stood in the center, regal even now, breathing shallow as she watched him approach. He stopped close, eyes locked on hers, and cupped her face with both hands—thumbs stroking the flawless curves of her cheekbones.
Then he began.
A slow, deliberate press of lips to her forehead—lingering, breathing her in. Another to each closed eyelid, feather-soft, tasting the faint salt of her earlier emotion. Down the elegant bridge of her nose, the proud tip.
The bow of her upper lip, the plush swell of her lower—kissing her without deepening, just worshipping the shape of her mouth until her breath trembled against his lips.
