Morning light sliced through the half-closed blinds of the master suite, painting thin gold stripes across tangled limbs and rumpled sheets.
The air still carried the heavy musk of last night—sweat, s*x, the faint metallic bite of spent desire.
Angel woke first, body deliciously sore, skin marked in a constellation of bites and fingerprints.
She lay in the center of the massive bed, Dante’s arm slung possessively over her waist, Jax’s head pillowed on her breast, Marco sprawled across her thighs like he’d claimed territory in his sleep, Vin curled against her back, and Nico watching her from the armchair in the corner—already awake, already hard, already calculating.
She stretched—slow, deliberate—letting the sheet slip down to bare her breasts.
Five sets of eyes snapped to her instan
