The studio smelled of turpentine, sweat, and something rawer, something that lingered in the air long after Damien and Lena’s last heated encounter. They had been reckless, lost in each other, blind to the world beyond the four walls of that messy room. Lena still felt the faint sting of his hands on her hips, the bruising kisses down her throat, the fire he had awakened deep inside her.
She was curled on the paint-stained sheets Damien had thrown on the floor the night before, her hair wild, her lips swollen. Damien stood near the window, shirtless, the faint morning light catching the sharp lines of his chest and jaw. He was silent, brooding, cigarette between his fingers though he hadn’t taken a drag in minutes.
Lena stretched lazily, arching her back like a cat.
“You’re staring agai
