MAREN’S POV
Since I entered the classroom, every fiber of my body seemed to have a memory of its own, and that memory screamed Thorne’s name.
I felt a dull ache in my thighs and a delicious heaviness in my hips; a physical reminder of what had been the most intense weekend of my life.
While Thorne delivered the class in that monotonic and authoritative voice, I closed my eyes for moments, letting the images run over me.
Not only had we marked each other; he had behaved like a gentleman taken from another era. He had cooked for me, we had shared silences in front of movies we barely watched, we had made love again, this time with a delicacy so deep it made me cry silently on his shoulder. He had made me feel special, not like a low-ranking Omega, but like his Luna.
However, the reality
