Val’s P.O.V

The first tendrils of dawn, pale and hesitant, crept through the gap in my heavy curtains, painting stripes of weak light across the rumpled duvet. I stirred not to the light, but at myself and the lingering sensation of the dream. My emotions and feelings had me steaming like a boiled egg. My mind flipped to last night, how Jax bent me over like a contortionist, cool, enveloping, lapping gently at my skin. Not the unpleasant clamminess of sweat, but the buoyant, silken caress of ...