Creak.
Click.
Steve shut the door behind him with a quiet slam, locking it in one smooth motion. The soft click echoed in the stillness of the room.
His eyes flicked toward the bed.
There she was—Dina.
Sprawled across the sheets, one arm draped over her forehead, her shirt slightly bunched, her midriff exposed. Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady waves… lips parted slightly. Asleep—or close to it.
Steve stared, tongue briefly grazing his bottom lip.
Damn.
She looked soft. Vulnerable. Tempting.
He let out a slow breath and stretched, the tension in his muscles making his body flex. As he rolled his shoulders, his mind wasn't on his training—or survival.
Not at first.
His thoughts drifted, uninvited, back to her.
The Queen Witcher.
The feel of her body pressing against his—those massive, perfect tits flattening against his chest, practically smothering him with heat and softness.
The way her lips had brushed his ear, breath warm as silk.
