The sun was already blazing in the afternoon when I rolled onto my side and found myself face-to-face with Shi Yaozu.
His hair was a mess of ink-black strands, half-tied, half-spilled across the pillow. The blanket had long since slipped down his bare back, revealing the lithe, scarred muscle underneath. For a man whose reputation struck fear into the palace, he slept like someone who hadn't a care in the world when he was beside me. Not quite a lion at rest. Not quite a blade sheathed. Just… a man. And mine, for this quiet sliver of time.
He opened one eye, then the other. "You're staring," he murmured, his voice rough with disuse.
"You're pretty," I countered as I reached out to touch the faint mark between his shoulder blades. The definition of his muscles was like an unintended thirst trap that was hard to restrain myself from. "It's a miracle you made it this far with how reckless you are," I continued, tracing all the other scars on his back.
