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Summary
Leona’s in a rut. Kalim’s in his bed. Jamil is, thankfully, elsewhere.
Leona leaps.
It is, in fact, too late for so many things. This is Leona’s room, Leona’s bed, and, in some absurd, perverted way, Kalim is his, too. He growls low in his throat, ripping the pillow from Kalim’s grasp and tossing it to the floor. Still those wide, innocent eyes stare up at him, glossy crimson, and Leona pushes him back onto the bed before climbing over him. Kalim looks good like this: confused, sprawled out beneath him. Appetizing, even.