"Job," she finished, the word a breathless squeak, her teal eyes snapping back to his with a desperate, pleading look, as if begging him to respond—or maybe to just end her misery.
Her hand hovered where she'd grabbed him, trembling slightly, her fair skin a stark canvas for the crimson tide consuming her.
Syn's voice caught in his throat, a choked sound that refused to form into anything coherent, his hazel eyes wide with a mix of shock and embarrassment.
He stared at her, his breath shallow, the red bed beneath him suddenly feeling too warm, too confining.
Aster didn't move, her teal eyes locked on his, her own flush a vivid scarlet across her fair skin, her expression expectant—almost demanding—yet tinged with a nervous edge that made the air between them crackle with unease.
He mirrored her stillness, his hand still rubbing the spot where she'd gripped him, the silence stretching into something thick and uncomfortable.
