A R I A N A
The light of morning crept through the curtains as I I woke up, dante’s heavy body still pinned me to the bed, his face now buried in my shoulder.
His breathing was uneven, his skin still burning against mine.
I tried to wiggle free, but his arms tightened around me even in sleep.
"Dante," I whispered, gently shaking him. "I need to get up."
He groaned but didn't wake.
Carefully, I managed to slip one hand free and brushed my fingers across his forehead, still feverish and my thumb accidentally grazed his lips, dry and hot.
Dante's eyes flew open instantly, Dark, glassy with fever, with something quiet unreadable.
"Touching me in my sleep, wife?" His voice was rough, but the usual edge was dulled by sickness.
I yanked my hand back. "You have a fever.
