Ahce's POV
My eyes fluttered open to a haze of morning light seeping through the curtains. The first thing I noticed wasn't the ache in my head or the faint scent of whiskey still clinging to my skin. It was the shirt I was wearing. Not mine. His...
"Shit..."
The fabric hung loose over my shoulders, smelling faintly of gunpowder and cedar. I blinked, pushing myself upright, only to freeze when I saw him.
Reichardt was sitting on the floor beside the bed, head resting on the edge of the mattress, one arm draped loosely against it. His breathing was deep, steady, almost peaceful. For a long moment, I just stared at him, trying to piece together what had happened. Then the flashes came.
Hands. Heat. A voice calling my name like it was something sacred. The sound of his breath against my ear. I pressed a trembling hand to my lips. My heart slammed painfully in my chest. Something happened between us last night!
"No…" The word came out in a whisper. "I didn't..."
