The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, soft and unforgiving. It painted everything in cool tones—our tangled sheets, the faint bruises on my hips from Shawn’s grip the night before, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept beside me.
I was still sore in the best way. Deep, lingering aches that reminded me how thoroughly he had claimed me here. Twice against the glass. Then again in the bed until the early hours, his voice rough with commands and filthy praise. “Take it deeper.” “That’s my good girl—milk my c**k just like that.” Each round had stripped away another layer of the control he wore like armor in the office.
But now the real world waited.
I slipped from the bed quietly, pulling on one of his shirts. The fabric still carried his scent—clean, exp
