TYR

I rested behind her and hooked my arm around her waist. The rain outside had softened to a drizzle, the rhythm slow and steady, matching the beat of her breathing.

Zuri’s hair smelled faintly of the oils she always used, and her skin was still warm from our bath. My lips found the back of her neck. I kept it there, tasting the faint salt on her skin.

“Are you asleep?” I murmured against her shoulder.

She gave a soft hum. Then, after a beat, she asked quietly, “How could I sleep ...