X Art Gianna Morning Tryst -

His voice was a low rumble, thick with sleep. She didn’t turn around.

She leaned against the stone balustrade, watching the sea turn from slate to sapphire. The scent of jasmine and salt clung to the air. x art gianna morning tryst

“I was painting you in my head,” he murmured. “The light on your shoulder. The way your hair fell across the pillow.” His voice was a low rumble, thick with sleep

The first thing Gianna became aware of was the warmth. It pooled through the sheer linen curtains, turning the white sheets into a river of liquid gold. The second thing was the weight of an arm draped across her waist, possessive even in sleep. His voice was a low rumble