Vesper POV
I want to move. I want to sit up, slap him, drag my clothes on, and storm the hell out. But my body won’t listen. I’m too sore. Too raw. Too ruined. His arms are still around me, one hand trailing idly down my spine like he owns me now.
I f*****g hate how good it feels.
This isn’t me. I don’t give up control. I don’t collapse into someone’s chest after s*x and breathe in their scent like I’m trying to remember the moment.
“About time you stopped fighting me,” he mutters, voice smug and low.
“Say another word and I’ll shoot you,” I grumble, and even to my own ears, I sound too tired to be a real threat.
He laughs, and I feel the vibration of it under my cheek. I hate that I haven’t moved. I hate more that I’m still here, still wrapped in him, still letting him touch me. His
