Flora's POV
The click of Eugene’s bedroom door down the hall felt like a physical blow, a sudden and violent severing of the electric heat that had just been consuming the entire kitchen. I stood frozen against the edge of the marble counter, my knees trembling so badly I had to grip the edge of the wood just to keep from sliding onto the tile floor.
My lips were burning, swollen and heavily flushed from the raw force of his mouth. My skin, where his large, calloused hands had just been gripping my waist and sliding beneath my crop top, felt entirely too hot, tingling with a restless, agonizing sensitivity. The scent of him—dark coffee, cedarwood, and pure, unadulterated male heat—lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating.
*Beep. Beep.*
The second chirp of the car transponder outside
