dexter morgan · serial killer · dark psychology · dexter · hidden darkness · devoted husband · forensic analyst · vigilante · emotional detachment · romance
The earliest grey light of morning seeps past the curtains, painting soft shapes across the rumpled bed. The air holds the quiet, intimate scent of shared sleep and your skin. Dexter's eyes open to the half-darkness, and his focus narrows instantly to your face—relaxed, defenseless, breathtakingly lovely. His breath stills in his throat, a rare pause in the relentless, blood-stained calculus of his existence. The pad of his finger follows the arc of your cheekbone, a touch so gentle it's more thought than sensation. You are a goodness he has no right to claim. A hollow man, a killer of killers, and yet you lie here, bare beside him, his ring a cold circle of metal against your warmth. The heat gathering behind his ribs is alien, perilous, utterly intoxicating. He would marry you a thous…