Warning; Mature Content!
He set her down on the edge of the bed with a gentle care like he was placing something precious where it belonged. The mattress dipped slightly beneath her weight, and the room seemed to close in around them, dim and quiet except for the sound of their breathing.
Sylas straightened slowly, and her eyes followed him without permission.
He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion, and Theo forgot how to breathe.
His chest was broad and solid, dusted with dark hair that curled naturally over firm muscle, and trailed down his abdomen, disappearing into his pants. He had the kind of chest that spoke of years of strength earned. There were faint scars too, pale against his skin. It was undeniably masculine, and the sight of it sent a deep, aching pull through her that settled low and heavy.
Older.
Grounded.
Dangerously sure of himself.
