Third Floor — Bedroom
Rory was fast asleep.
Soft afternoon sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, scattering dappled patterns across the floor. She shifted in her sleep, turning slightly—only to feel a faint tickle at her waist.
As if a feather were brushing back and forth, light and teasing.
She stirred, instinctively twisting her body to escape the sensation.
But the moment she moved, the "feather" turned into a hand.
Firm. Unyielding.
It caught her by the waist and pulled her back—straight into a warm, solid embrace.
Vincent's chest pressed snugly against her back, his body heat wrapping around her like a second skin. His breath, warm and steady, brushed against the hollow of her neck in slow, deliberate rhythms.
Rory blinked awake, still groggy.
The first thing she saw was a strip of black silk.
"…Vincent?" Her sleepiness vanished instantly. "What are you doing here?"
Wasn't he supposed to still be in his own room?
Vincent didn't answer.
