She woke up in her own bed, still tasting the leather of the gag in the back of her throat.
It was early—gray morning light spilling through her curtains like fog. Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache. Her thighs were sore. Her arms were stiff. Her lips felt chapped and used.
But what stuck out the most?
She felt… important.
⸻
Owen had wanted her. All of her. In a way no one ever had.
He hadn’t just f****d her—he’d consumed her.
⸻
She blinked at the ceiling, heart thudding, replaying the night like it was a scene from someone else’s life. The way he’d looked at her when she joked about dinner. The silence. The gravity in his “yes.”
God, he’d devoured her.
Her face flushed.
He was so confident. So in control. He’d known exactly what he was doing, and she—
Well, sh
