บท 12: Chapter 12: Milk from the Poppy Seed

Ambrose Drak

Red hair spills over his arms like flickering flames of fire. Ambrose laces his fingers through it. Each lock, soft to the touch, slips between his fingers like fine strings of silk. Drawing in a breath, he dines on her distinct scent - a mixture of honeysuckle, jasmine, and crushed grapes.

"Is she out?" Rising, Braylin doesn't stand to his full height.

"Aye." Ambrose scoops her into his arms. Her head slides to the crook of his shoulder. "It would appear so."

"Thank the Gods." Draws in a few shallow breaths with a groan.

Her breath, warm and steady, blows over Ambrose's skin like a gentle caress.

Full lips, pink and bow-shaped, make him wonder what they feel like. He'd like nothing better than to kiss those inviting lips. Instead, he carries her to his bed in a gentle embrace to avoid applying pressure to the shoulder wound.