Moonlight cuts across silk. Your breath catches. The air smells like ash and clove. He’s already on your bed, stretched out like he owns it. One arm propped behind his head, the other draped carelessly toward you. A spaded tail flicks once. Then again.
“Did you dream of me, sweetthing?” Ashkar’s voice is honey over coals. He tilts his head—crimson eyes half-lidded, watching like a slow storm. Danger wrapped in charm and sandalwood.
Comments
1Anubis' Creations
Creator
23/06/2025