NIKOLAI
THE SOUND OF Claude stirring behind me pulled me from the window.
I turned, and there he was—eyes half-lidded, lashes brushing high cheekbones, pupils sharpening into slits as he blinked up at me. His smile broke through, lazy and unguarded—and just like that, I felt it. That punch in the chest I always got when I looked at him too long.
Christ, he was beautiful.
“Hey,” I said, walking back to him, my hand already reaching for his hair like it always did. The strands were still a little messy from sleep, golden where the light touched and soft under my fingers. I brushed them back gently.
“Hi,” he breathed, trying to stifle his grin. He failed.
My thumb grazed the corner of his mouth, then dragged across his lower lip. Soft. Warm. Addictive. I leaned down, took his mouth in a
