Devil Taking An Angel**

The moonlight spilling through the window painted them in silver, shadows dancing on bare skin like whispers of something sacred. Tessa's fingers traced every inch of him, slow and deliberate, like she was memorizing the shape of his existence. Her lips followed where her hands wandered—soft, reverent kisses over his neck, his collarbone, his chest—each touch igniting something raw in the silence between them.

Parker lay back, his breaths uneven, a rare vulnerability in the way his body surrendered to hers. For once, he wasn't calculating, wasn't controlling. He was hers, completely and utterly, and he didn't fight it. Tessa's hair cascaded over his skin as she moved, her every motion careful but purposeful, like she was determined to show him just how much he meant to her without needing words.