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... den streams, painting the room in shades of honey and warmth. Dust motes drift lazily in the illuminated air, suspended like tiny stars caught between sleep and waking.
The world outside is still waking up—distant traffic, the occasional bird, the hum of a city stretching after a long night.
I shift slowly, my body heavy and content in that way that only comes after a night of being completely, thoroughly loved. My face presses against something impossibly soft—warm skin, a stead ...
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