Chris waited until the silence stretched again long enough that he could almost believe Dax had drifted into the kind of sleep even palace alarms wouldn't break.
He counted to five. Then to ten.
Slowly, he slid a hand beneath the arm around his waist, inching toward freedom. It wasn't easy. The weight that held him down wasn't just the arm itself, but the solid, immovable presence of a man who stood well over seven feet tall. Dax's hand spanned nearly the width of his rib cage; even in sleep, his grip carried the authority of someone who didn't let go unless he chose to.
Chris sighed softly. "You really don't do half measures, do you?"
No response.
He tried again, this time rolling his shoulder carefully, managing to slip free enough to sit upright. The sheet whispered down his back, cool against skin still warm from shared heat.
He'd just swung one leg over the edge of the bed when something grabbed his wrist.
