Don's breath came in ragged bursts, his fingers twisting into the rumpled sheets beneath him as a low groan escaped his throat.
"Yeah… keep going," he muttered, voice rough and edged with want, his pulse hammering so hard he could feel it in his temples.
The master bedroom lay bathed in soft, amber lamplight from a single bedside lamp, its glow spilling across the king-sized bed and catching on the silk robe that had slipped halfway down Samantha's shoulders.
Through the half-open balcony doors, the cool night air drifted in, carrying the distant hum of the garden below—faint insect noises and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
It kissed over their heated skin, raising faint goosebumps along Samantha's exposed back and making the curtains sway gently like silent witnesses.
Samantha barely noticed the chill. Her focus remained locked on her son, eyes glossy with a heady mix of shame and hunger.
