The morning light crept across Marcus’s apartment in quiet, golden streams. Elena stirred on the bed, blinking against the brightness, disoriented for a second before memory struck like a hammer. His couch…his hands…his mouth…his dick. His voice murmuring her name while the city slept outside.

Her throat tightened.

Marcus was asleep beside her, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm. Without the hard edge in his gaze, he looked almost peaceful—still powerful, yes, but ...