The guest room was dim, lit only by the faint spill of morning light, pressing through the sheer curtains. The scent of lavender soap still clung to the air, mingling with the steam that drifted from the bathroom behind her.
Lena stood near the bed, wrapped in a towel, water beading along her collarbone and sliding slowly down her spine. Her hair dripped in quiet rhythm onto the polished floorboards. She stared at her reflection in the mirror across the room, but couldn’t meet her own eyes for long.
She didn’t want to remember the way Marcus had looked at her — the rawness in his voice, the way his hand had hovered over her body. Or the way her heart wanted him to mark her.
But worse than remembering was trying not to. Because she had never felt pleasure like that.
Was it the bond? Or
