Rachel POV
Warmth.
Silk sheets.
The unfamiliar weight of expensive fabric against my bare skin.
My eyes fluttered open slowly, consciousness returning in fragments—the dim morning light filtering through heavy curtains, the faint scent of Damien's cologne on the pillow beside me, the dull, persistent ache between my thighs.
Oh God.
Last night.
The gala. The car. This bed.
Damien.
My face burned as memories flooded back—his hands, his mouth, the way he'd made me come apart before finally—
I sat up too quickly and immediately regretted it.
Pain shot through my core, sharp and undeniable. My inner thighs protested.
Everything was sore in a way that left no room for denial about what we'd done.
The bed beside me was empty, the sheets cool where he'd been.
Gone.
My stomach twist
