Morning bled softly into the bedroom, gold sunlight crawling up the tangled sheets and across Harin's bare shoulder. She blinked awake, for once not to the alarm or a flurry of urgent texts, but to the slow certainty that she was exactly where she wanted to be. Her body hummed with languid, delicious soreness—a throbbing reminder of the night before.
She lay still a moment, content to study the man sleeping next to her. Joon-ho looked impossibly young in sleep—lashes resting on his cheek, mouth parted in a breathy sigh. A faint smile curled the edge of her lips. He never let his guard down in public, always so careful, so composed. Here, now, there was nothing but peace in his face.
She shifted to slip from beneath the covers, intending to tiptoe to the bathroom. The instant her hips rolled, pain flared—muscles protesting, a sharp ache at the center of her thighs. She stifled a groan. "God…"
Joon-ho stirred, eyes fluttering open. His voice was a sleepy drawl. "Did I wake you?"
