Morning bleeds into my office like a weak, useless thing. The light spills across my desk, across the piles of untouched paperwork. None of it matters. None of it has since last night.
I haven’t moved in an hour.
My hands are clenched into fists, knuckles white, the veins in my arms taut and throbbing as I stare blankly at the wall. But all I see is her.
Penelope.
I can still feel her. Her taste is on my tongue, her scent curling in my lungs, thick and sweet and maddening. The way she arched into my hand, the broken little sounds she made when she came apart on my fingers... f**k. My c**k stirs at the memory, hard and aching, as if her body still clings to me, still soaks my skin. She’s imprinted in my bones now—marked without a bite, claimed without a word.
I thought it would ease th
