The morning light streamed through the large cabin windows, gently rousing Alicarde from his slumber. He hadn't even realized when he had fallen asleep, much less that he could sleep so deeply.
For once, he hadn't woken up to nightmares, hadn't felt the usual suffocating dread creeping into his dreams. Lying next to Malefica, there had been an unexpected peace, a rare escape from his traumas.
He shifted slightly, intending to move his hand, but found it held down by a soft, feminine weight.
Malefica was nestled against him, pressed so close that he could feel her breath, his right hand resting on her chest. As her voluptuous breasts rose and fell with each gentle breath, Alicarde gulped. An urge stirred within him, tempting him to squeeze just a little.
He had never considered himself a gentleman—he believed only lesser men pretended to be such—so he tensed his fingers, gently squeezing.
