YIREN
I wake up pressed against something warm, strong, and a little too familiar. There's that scent—the one that's become my guilty favorite. Jun. I don't remember walking to the bedroom last night. Did he… move me?
Judging by how I'm sprawled on his side, clinging to him like a baby monkey, it's obvious I'm the one who didn't respect the "Line of Control." Great! Teasing will be eternal.
But…One more minute, I snuggle, biting my lip. Why? Because I want to. Sue me.
Slowly, I peel away from his warm embrace, inch by inch, and slide back to the cold side of the bed.
Before I fully escape, my gaze drifts back to him, lingering on his face. Too damn sexy. Long lashes brush against his sculpted cheekbones, his jawline sharp, strong. And his tattooed chest… I feel an involuntary urge to trace my fingers over them, to ask the story behind them. One day, I tell myself. Maybe after this awkwardness fades.
