When his hands find my body—strong, firm, possessive in a way Asher never is—my thoughts splinter. He touches me like he’s never touched me before. Somewhere, deep in the foggy corners of my mind, awareness stirs. A distant voice whispers that something is off. That this doesn’t make sense. But it’s too quiet, too far away to grasp. The Ambien makes everything slow and liquid, reality slipping through my fingers like silk. The press of his hands, the deliberate way they explore, claim, take, it drowns out everything else.
