At the first hush of dawn, a feather-light tickle brushed across Alicia's cheek—so soft it could've been mistaken for a breeze if not for the low breath that followed it.
She stirred, curled up on the living room couch, her limbs tangled in the throw blanket. The excuse had been the heat, but the truth sat flushed on her neck in the shape of Adrien's mark—one her mother absolutely could not see. Thankfully, Ms. Edna had grumbled about the fan, refusing it, and Alicia played along, pretending to be considerate while banishing herself to the front room.
"Wakie wakie..." a velvety whisper slipped against her ear.
She groaned, barely lifting her head. "Mmhmm... go away…"
"Wake up, darling," the voice insisted—deeper now, smoother than sin.
She shifted, irritation curling through her as she attempted to kick the source of the voice away, her foot swinging out lazily to the side—but it met resistance. Firm, warm, grinning resistance.
