The bedroom was filled with the faint scent of warmth and sweat, the kind of silence that only came after two hearts had run wild against each other. The pale morning light streamed through the curtains, painting golden lines across the sheets that were tangled like vines around two exhausted figures.
Mio lay sprawled across the bed, her hair messy against the pillow, her chest rising and falling heavily. Her cheeks were still flushed, and every inch of her seemed to radiate the aftershocks of the storm Claude had stirred. She turned her head slowly, her eyes narrowing as they landed on the man beside her.
Claude lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, watching her with that infuriating smile that carried both pride and amusement. His blue-gray eyes glimmered with satisfaction, as though he had just conquered the world—and perhaps, in his mind, he had.
