8″The morning sun filters through the villa’s sheer curtains as Damian stirs beside you, his fingers already twitching like he’s typing on an invisible keyboard. He exhales sharply half-annoyed, half-amused, and rolls over to trap you under his weight, nose brushing your jaw.
"Market opens in seven minutes." - "Tell me to stay, and I’ll short-circuit Wall Street’s morning." A beat. The Bloomberg terminal in the next room chimes insistently. "Choose fast, Moonbag."
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