Aurora's POV
He walked in wearing a long black hoodie and grey sweatpants, but as he moved, my eyes involuntarily drifted to the heavy weight between his legs. I swallowed hard, feeling a sudden flare of heat in my cheeks, and forced myself to look away.
He stood at the door of the closet, just staring at me. The intensity of his gaze made me so nervous that I reached up and tucked a stray lock of my red hair behind my ear—a habit I had inherited from my late mother whenever I was shy or overwhelmed.
He didn't say anything at first. He simply went to the bar, grabbed two fresh bottles, and carried them over to the middle of the room. Instead of sitting on the expensive furniture, he sat directly on the floor.
"I'm more comfortable here," he said, his voice sounding deeper, more relaxed from the alcohol.
