But my legs are aching, like my lack of flexibility was tested in a major way. The kind of way thatinvolved Gavril slamming me until I screamed. And between my legs aches, too.
I jolt upright. No, please, Joy, no. Tell me you didn’t do this.
But Gavril’s imprint is on the bed beside me, and my body’s already telling the full story. s**t. Shittyshit McShit s**t. What the hell have I done?
There’s another ache too, more insidious than the others. That has no real definable source and yetwhose origins I can pinpoint, too.
It’s the ache of not being where I want to be, where I belong. In Gavril’s arms.
I launch myself off the bed to start pacing and planning. This was a mistake. And Gavril just fuckingleft. Do I really need any more evidence of just what I am to him than that? I am a conv
