-Ryland Grayson:
I got up, standing near the foot of the bed for a long time after that.
Too long, probably.
But every time I tried to look away from him, another quiet sound would leave him and drag my attention right back again.
Blackmore shifted restlessly underneath the sheets, brows pulled together tightly now, while his body twisted slightly against the mattress like he couldn't get comfortable no matter how he moved. One hand stayed clenched weakly near his stomach underneath the blanket, fingers gripping the fabric there every few seconds whenever another wave of pain seemed to hit him.
And the sounds—
Fuck.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just small, strained whimpers slipping out unconsciously while he slept.
Enough to make every protective instinct inside me feel sharp and restless at the same time.
The scent flooding the room wasn't helping either.
It kept thickening.
Sweet enough now that it almost felt dangerous.
