The sun crept in through the half-drawn curtains, casting soft sunshine over the room. Cristiano stirred, slowly blinking open his eyes, unfamiliar softness beneath him.
This wasn't the bed he had grown used to these past nights.
It smelled different.
Felt different.
Warmer.
He shifted slightly, and a delicate hand brushed against his side, fingertips curling instinctively around his hip.
He turned his head.
Portia.
She lay curled beside him, face pressed to his bare chest, her breathing slow and steady. Strands of silver hair spilt over her shoulder, and the sheets had slipped just enough to expose the long curve of her spine. Her body was littered with faint red and purple marks. His marks. Memories of the night came flooding back.
The kiss that had started it.
Her gaze was heavy with want.
The way their clothes had fallen, forgotten.
The way they had given themselves to each other without politics, without pride. Just two people lost in each other.
