DEMETRIA

The next morning…

“What do you think you’re doing, Wildfire?” Marion’s voice came out deep and rough from sleep. The kind that vibrated low in his chest.

The morning light spilled across the sheets, golden and soft, tracing every line of his body like it was made to worship him. His hair was tousled, messy in the most perfect way, the dark curls falling over his forehead. His lashes were long, unfairly long for a man, and his stubble framed his jaw just right. The covers ...