Althea
The first thing I register is silk, cool, expensive silk sheets against my bare skin, softer than anything I've ever owned. The second thing is the light- not the harsh glare that filters through my cheap curtains in Airport residential, but golden morning rays streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that frame Accra like a living painting.
I sit up slowly, clutching the sheet to my chest, and reality hits like cold water. I'm in Eros Valenti's bedroom. In his penthouse. Completely naked in the bed of a billionaire CEO.
Sweet Mother of Monkey Milk.
The memories flood back - his hands mapping every inch of my skin, the way he looked at me as if I were something precious, the feeling of finally letting go without apology.
Heat floods my cheeks, but it's not entirely embarrassm
