Book 4: Reborn

Faye

Michael has satin sheets in the same dark blue as the walls of his enormous bedroom. A fire crackles in the hearth, spraying warmth that mingles with the heat beneath my skin as he slowly, achingly, devastatingly slowly lays me on the bed and slides the robe free of my shoulders. The loose straps of my nightgown go next, gliding over my skin in a featherlight touch that has gooseflesh erupting all over my body. 

I’m on fire. I’m chilled. I’m everything in between as his mouth brushes mine, my name a whisper as it leaves his lips. 

There’s nothing rushed about this compared to the first time. I don’t feel a single ounce of desperation, of burning, unquenchable lust. This feels… easy. Natural. I know his taste. I know his smell and recognize the way it feels to be touched by his warm, calloused hands. My body has already memorized the way it feels to have those hands ghosting down my sides, dragging my nightgown down until the cool nig