(Kyle's POV)
I woke up to a dull, throbbing headache pounding against my skull.
The aftereffects of last night's whiskey lingered, reminding me that maybe—just maybe—I had drank a little too much.
The room was dim, the curtains drawn, shielding us from the unforgiving morning light.
I shifted slightly, and the warmth beside me stirred.
Sasha.
She was curled up against me, her long platinum blonde hair cascading over my arm, her bare skin pressed against mine.
Even in her sleep, she looked effortlessly seductive, her lips slightly parted, her breathing slow and steady.
As I gazed at her, memories of the night before flooded my mind—the party, the drinks, the laughter, and then, the way we had driven back, still high on the energy of the night, eager to continue our own private celebration.
And what a celebration it had been as it ended to the point where we are.
The bedroom.
I smirked to myself, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.
