EMILY
I’d barely caught my breath when my phone rang. My thighs ached, and Leo’s seed was still slowly sliding down the inside of my leg as I stood in the middle of the enormous kitchen trying to pretend I wasn’t completely wrecked.
The screen lit up with an unknown number. I wanted to ignore it. But Chloe had said Victor Lang might call directly about wardrobe fittings, and some stupid part of me still believed I could have a normal life while locked inside a cage.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A low, cultured chuckle slid through the line like silk over a blade.
“Hello, Emily. Miss me?”
The floor dropped out from under me when I heard the voice. Rowan.
My ex, who played the disappearing act more times than I could count, leaving me with questions during our whole relationship. Questions
