"Mr. Dawnoro."
"Accept my help."
"Let me help you."
"Brother Arkai…"
Arkai jolted awake.
The world snapped into focus. His bedroom, the grey light of early dawn filtering through curtains, the familiar weight of blankets and pillows.
But the transition was violent, jarring, his body wrenching itself from sleep with a gasp that tore through the quiet.
And the immediate sensation that flooded his awareness was release.
Warm. Wet. Spreading. It was still… splurting out…
"Ha—ha… ha… ha…"
His breathing was ragged, uneven, each exhale a struggle. He stared at the ceiling, at the familiar patterns of shadow and light, and tried to remember how lungs worked.
Then he looked down.
His pants were ruined. The fabric clung to him, damp and cooling, and when he pulled them down, his cock lay limp and spent against his thigh, glistening with evidence of a dream he couldn't quite remember.
But he remembered the voice.
"Brother Arkai."
That hadn't been Sienna's voice.
