Adam stirred just after sunrise, the soft creak of old floorboards and the faint clatter of kitchenware tugging him out of sleep. The bed beside him was empty, still warm, scented with her skin. His body ached in every possible way—satisfied and yet starved. Last night hadn't dulled the pull between them. If anything, it deepened it.
He pushed the sheets away and reached for his shirt, but stopped halfway.
There was no point.
She'd already stripped him of more than just clothes.
The scent of coffee led him down the hallway. He passed by faded picture frames and peeling wallpaper that somehow made the place feel more like her. And then he saw her—bathed in the morning light, standing barefoot in front of the stove in that nightgown.
Thin.
Barely clinging.
