LILY
I wake up in Erion's arms.
His heartbeat is steady beneath my palm, a rhythmic thud against my hand where it rests on his bare chest. The sound of his breathing fills the quiet room, punctuated by soft snores that rumble through him at irregular intervals. The sound is gentle. Comforting in a way I didn't expect.
I smile to myself. Can't help it.
I'm happy. Content. Even though I know this situation is difficult to navigate. Even though I know the men I'm falling for are dangerous in ways I'm only beginning to understand. Even though my life has become something I wouldn't have recognized three weeks ago.
But right now, in this moment, wrapped in warmth and the fading scent of sex and Erion's cologne, I'm just happy.
The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting silver shadows across Erion's face. He looks different in sleep. Younger somehow. The sharp edges of his personality softened by unconsciousness. The aggression that radiates from him when he's awake is absent now, replaced by something almost peaceful.
I lie still for a while, watching him. Memorizing the way his lashes rest against his cheeks. The way his mouth relaxes into something softer than the smirks and grins he usually wears. The way his hand stays curled possessively around my waist even in sleep.
I'm awake and I don't want to disturb him. He needs the rest. They all do. The tension that's been building over the past days has been exhausting for all of them, even if they won't admit it.
Carefully, I extract myself from his hold. Move slowly. Gently. Lifting his arm with both hands and placing it on the mattress beside him. His fingers flex once, reaching for me, but he doesn't wake. Just mumbles something in Albanian that I can't quite catch. Something that sounds like my name wrapped in words I don't understand.
I grab the throw blanket from the bottom of the bed. The fabric is soft against my skin as I drape it over my naked body, wrapping it around myself like a cocoon.
I move to the window. Look out at the lake.
The full moon hangs low over the water, its reflection creating a path of silver light across the dark surface. Perfect anduntouchable. The night is quiet except for the soft sounds of water lapping at the shore. A gentle rhythm that matches the pulse still thrumming through my veins.
I stand there for a while. Just watching. Just being. Letting the events of the evening settle into my body. Into my memory. The way Erion touched me. The things he said. The intensity of his want and the unexpected tenderness beneath it.
Then I see it.
A small incandescent light by the water. The orange glow of a cigarette flaring bright for a moment before dimming again. Someone is outside smoking, silhouetted against the moonlit lake.
I know immediately it's Artan.
I don't think about it.
I just move.
My feet carry me back to the bed. I lean down and kiss Erion softly on the forehead. His skin is warm beneath my lips. He mumbles something in Albanian,, and goes right back to sleep.
Then I leave the room.
I walk through the villa on silent feet. Down the stairs. Through the living room where moonlight spills across the furniture in geometric patterns. Out the door.
The night air hits me immediately. Cool and fresh against my overheated skin. My feet are bare on the cool grass, damp with evening dew. Then on the wooden planks of the jetty, smooth and slightly rough in places where the wood has weathered.
Artan senses my approach before I say anything. Turns around slowly, the cigarette still glowing between his fingers.
For a moment, we just look at each other. Him standing there in jeans and nothing else, his chest bare and his hair slightly mussed. Me wrapped in a blanket with nothing underneath. The space between us charged with everything we haven't said.
He flicks his cigarette away into the water. The ember arcs through the darkness before hitting the surface with a soft hiss.
He looks at me. His eyes are dark. Intense. Something burning there that makes my breath catch in my throat. Something I've seen building for days now. Something that's been growing between us since the moment we met and I walked into that apartment with a bottle of whiskey and a loaf of bread.
When I'm close enough to touch, he speaks. His voice is rough. Low. "You should get inside. It’s cold. You're shaking."
"I am shaking," I say. My voice is quiet. Steady despite the tremor running through my limbs. "But I'm not cold."
Something breaks in him.
