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AUTHOR’S POV
The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls.
The air was thick with the remnants of their passion, the scent of her still clinging to his skin.
Damon lay on his back, his arm wrapped protectively around Sloane, who was curled up on his chest, her breathing slow and even.
She was completely spent, her body soft and warm against his, her delicate frame rising and falling with each breath.
Damon stared at the ceiling, his mind in turmoil, his heart pounding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
His fingers idly traced slow patterns along her bare back, feeling the contrast of her smooth skin against his own rougher one.
She was covered in his marks—evidence of how thoroughly he had claimed her.
