Morning After Regrets
Ava woke to the low winter sun slicing through the blinds and the unfamiliar weight of Lucian’s arm locked around her waist. For one disoriented second she let herself sink into it, the steady thump of his heart against her spine, the warmth of his breath on her neck, the way his hand had drifted up to cup her breast even in sleep. It felt safe. It felt like home.
Then memory slammed back, the locked door, the confession, the piano, the way she’d begged him to never stop.
She hated how much she didn’t hate it.
Carefully she slid out from under his arm. He stirred but didn’t wake, one hand reaching across the empty sheets as if searching for her even unconsciously. She stared down at him, hair tousled, lashes dark against his cheeks, the faint bruise her teeth had
