Isla woke before dawn, her skin still warm from where Damien’s body had lain pressed against hers all night. The room was quiet, but not cold… not with the heat still radiating off the sheets, the scent of him in the air, the ache between her thighs that reminded her precisely how deep and how completely he’d taken her.
She moved slightly, muscles wonderfully sore, and felt Damien move behind her. His arm tightened around her waist again, pressing her back against the hard line of his body.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, a husky edge to his voice, lips grazing her shoulder.
“I never really slept,” she whispered.
He kissed her skin slowly, not hurried. “Neither did I.”
She turned toward him, and a look in his eyes brought her breath to a halt.
Raw. Hungry. Still needing.
Without a word
