8
Mara.
The morning after is supposed to be soft, gentle, all tangled sheets and lazy kisses, but nothing about us is normal. I wake up to the light leaking through a cracked curtain, slanting gold across Gabriel’s narrow bed. The room smells like s*x and rain, humid and alive. I stretch, arms over my head, and roll onto my side, watching Gabriel sleep. For a second I just study him, the stubble on his jaw, the crease between his eyebrows, the way his mouth is relaxed now that he isn’t worrying.
Last night is still on my skin. I feel deliciously sore, marked and claimed. I want to curl back into him, but I know I shouldn’t push my luck. The rectory is quiet, but not silent. Someone might be around. It’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
Gabriel wakes with a slow groan, arm fl
