Azeer steals a kiss on my forehead, whispering, “Beautiful.” He then falls back on his side and starts studying the ceiling, allowing me to memorize his side profile. The tips of my fingers graze over his dark stubble. Prickly and well-trimmed. I feel a flutter in my stomach, followed by endless somersaults, as I admire the sharp angles of his jawline and the straight line of his nose. “So handsome.” Azeer arches an eyebrow and gives me a playful side glance. “I am aware,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. I playfully smack his cheek. “Narcissist.” “Nuisance.” “Ass.” “Mine.” Without
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IT KEEPS GETTING WORSE I WONT SURVIVE 🥹🫠🫠🫠🫠
