The bright morning sun fought its way through the heavy drapes, cutting a sharp line of golden light across the battlefield of the mattress. The heavy, intoxicating scent of charred cedar, silver, and the slick, musky aftermath of their intense mating session still hung and undisturbed in the warm air of the room.
Malcolm was the first one to blink his eyes open. His amber gaze was instantly met by the stark reality of his situation, his entire lower body feeling heavily weighted down and completely pinned against the sheets. Looking down, he saw Dahmer's long, pale hands still wrapped tightly and securely around his waist, holding him against his frame with a terrifyingly possessive grip even in deep sleep.
Malcolm lay perfectly still, his breathing shallow as he carefully turned his head back to observe the man resting behind him.
