“His pulse quickened—not from lust, but from fear.”

It wasn’t the sex that unmoored him. It was the stillness. The question of what would remain when the fire dimmed. His pulse quickened—not from lust, but from fear. Beneath the heat of her skin, he felt the tremor—the ancient pull of doubt threading through the softness, whispering: don’t trust it. Don’t trust the warmth to stay.