Sunlight, fractured by the penthouse blinds, painted stripes across Simran’s face. A soft, cool dampness stroked her inner thigh. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, and she saw him, kneeling beside the bed, a pristine white cloth in his hand. He moved with a quiet focus, his dark eyes fixed on her, not on the task. The air, crisp and clean, held the faint scent of antiseptic and something subtly floral, a stark contrast to the musky aftermath of their night.
“Morning, enemy,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through the mattress. His thumb, calloused yet gentle, wiped away a sticky residue from her skin, his gaze tracking the movement. He dipped the cloth into a bowl of warm water on the nightstand, then wrung it out, the fabric whispering against itself.
Thank you for taking the time to engage with my work. If you’ve found value in what I create and would like to support my journey, I invite you to do so through my Stck.me page. Your support not only helps sustain my work, but also motivates me to continue sharing meaningful content. Every contribution, no matter the size, makes a difference. With gratitude, Author Infinity
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