DEMI
Morning arrived too softly for what it found in my room.
Maverick was gone by the time I opened my eyes, but the shape of him remained everywhere: the dip in the mattress beside me, the faint warmth in the blanket, the cedar-and-smoke scent clinging to my pillow like a confession I had not meant to make. For one dangerous second, I let myself remember his arm around me, his breathing slow against my hair, the trust of a man who had fallen asleep beside something that wanted his throat.
Then hunger moved under my skin, and the memory stopped being tender.
I crossed the room barefoot, careful not to look at the door as if guilt might be standing on the other side. The mini fridge hummed innocently beneath the desk. I opened it, already knowing the answer and still stupid enough t
