Zara
Locke’s bedroom is dark except for the moonlight spilling through the massive windows. Somewhere below us, traffic moves through the streets in ribbons of white and red, but up here everything feels suspended, removed from the rest of the world. It’s like Locke’s penthouse exists in its own quiet little universe where bad things can't quite reach us.
At least for tonight.
I lie curled against his side beneath the sheets, my cheek resting on his chest. It’s been a full day of being in his bed, my body being introduced to pleasure that I didn’t know it was even capable of.
I should probably be exhausted, and God knows I've earned it. The last few days alone feel as though they should account for several years of emotional wear and tear.
Instead, I find myself stretched comfortably
