Saturday Night
The morning sun poured into the room, warm and golden. I lay tangled in the sheets, savoring the remnants of the night, while Dominic stood at the foot of the bed—a silent, solid figure. His arms were folded across his thick bare chest, expression unreadable but not cold. Something in the proud, soft curve of his belly and the way he stood—still, alert—made me feel both exposed and oddly safe. “You planning to stay down there all day?” he asked, voice rough with sleep and gravel. I stretched, letting the sheet slip to my waist. “Depends. Are you planning to get back in?” He didn’t answer. He simply uncrossed his arms and stepped closer, the mattress shifting as he sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t touch me. Just looked toward the window, the sunlight catching the silver at his temples. “You always stare like that?” he asked. “Only when I like what I see.” He turned then. His eyes, still heavy from sleep, softened slightly. He reached out and placed his palm on my chest—not grabbing...