X Art Gianna Morning Tryst Official

“Not even close.” He turned her around. In the stark, honest light of 7 AM, there was nowhere to hide. No soft lamp light, no candle glow. Just her. Freckles she usually covered with concealer. The small scar on her knee. The sleepy, vulnerable look in her eyes that she never let anyone see.

“How so?”

Gianna turned her head, looking at him. The artist. The morning light. The promise in his dark eyes.

She didn’t move. Not yet. She just listened to the slow, even breathing of the man beside her—the artist who had talked to her for three hours last night about the way light broke against a wave. He had called her his “morning muse.” x art gianna morning tryst

He laughed, a real, unguarded sound. And as he rolled out of bed to find the coffee, Gianna pulled the sheet up to her chin and watched him go.

“You took the warmth with you.”

“I was painting you in my head,” he murmured. “The light on your shoulder. The way your hair fell across the pillow.” “Not even close

His voice was a low rumble, thick with sleep. She didn’t turn around.

“Stay,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Did you get it right?”

Later, much later, they lay in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets. He was drawing lazy circles on her stomach. She was staring at the ceiling, a small, satisfied smile on her face.

Turning her head on the pillow, she studied his profile. Strong jaw, dark lashes against his cheeks, a small scar near his eyebrow he’d gotten surfing in Portugal. This was their third… meeting? Tryst? She didn’t like labels. She liked the way his hands felt on her hip bones, like he was anchoring himself to something real.

She leaned against the stone balustrade, watching the sea turn from slate to sapphire. The scent of jasmine and salt clung to the air. Just her