Rustle, rustle…
"Mmm… where are you going? It' s Saturday, isn' t it?" A husky, half-asleep voice broke from under a mountain of blankets. Reya sniffed the air like a lazy pup, catching the crisp scent of his lover' s cologne—cool, like fresh water tumbling over stone. Blinking open one eye, he saw the tall figure at the mirror. Even in a plain white tee and fitted jeans, the man looked criminally good.
"Urgent call." The reply was short, steady, but the footsteps that followed were uneven. A limp, a drag—like he was favoring one leg.
"Doesn' t the Thai police ever get a day off? Your job' s dangerous as hell, and I hate it. But…" Reya smirked under the covers, voice turning wicked, "you in uniform? That' s pure sex. Maybe you should… shower with me first."
Keerati only sighed. "I' m in a hurry. Don' t forget to tidy up."
That deep, velvety voice washed over Reya like warm rain. He smiled dreamily.
"Hey…" Reya' s hand reached out across the bed, searching.
"What is it?"
"Come back soon."
Keerati paused, lips curving. He leaned down, pressing his nose against the lump of blanket, and murmured, "I' ll order fried chicken."
He turned for his discarded pajamas, but before he could reach, a long arm shot out from under the duvet, snatching the clothes into hiding.
Rustle. Rustle.
"Mmm… you smell so damn good," Reya groaned, muffled and indecent. The inspector chuckled, unable to resist stroking the shapeless bundle. Predictable in his unpredictability—that was Reya.
The door clicked shut. Silence fell.
"…adorable," Reya whispered into the soft cotton he clutched, breathing in until the scent filled every nerve. His mind, as always, slipped straight to darker places.
With one rough sweep he flung the blanket off, revealing his lean, hard body sprawled across the wide bed. Morning light filtered in dimly through the curtains—drawn for him, because Keerati knew he hated bright mornings.
Reya lifted the pajama shirt. The cloth was soft, smooth against his skin, almost silky. It should have been worn… but he liked stripping it away far more.
He pressed the fabric to his face, inhaling greedily, letting heat coil deep in his gut. His free hand wandered—across firm abs, brushing a sensitive peak, lower and lower until his body arched up into his own touch.
Every thread reeked of him. His scent. His warmth. His claim.
"God…" Reya' s voice cracked, breath hitching as his hips jerked against his hand. The cotton wrapped around him, sliding tight as his grip grew rougher.
Heat roared through him, each stroke faster, harder, hips thrusting into the friction. His thighs trembled, muscles taut, sweat dampening his skin. The shirt darkened with slick, clinging, wet.
"Ugh—Inspector… I—"
His back arched, head thrown against the pillows. The scent, the memory, the ache—it all snapped in a white-hot rush.
Release tore through him, violent and unstoppable. His body jolted, muscles locking, as wet heat spilled in sharp bursts against his stomach, staining the shirt he clutched like a lifeline.
He collapsed, chest heaving, every muscle trembling. The pajama pants slipped from his grasp, falling over his flushed face, still carrying that lingering scent.
Eyes closed, he lay there gasping, tangled in sheets and sweat, whispering into the fabric that smelled of the only man he wanted—
"…mine."
"Beneath the blanket, it was all the inspector' s scent… while outside, something was already moving closer—something Reya would never see coming."