When I finally woke, the room was bathed in the pale, soft light of early morning.
The heavy shadows from the night before had dissolved, but the moment I shifted, a deep, beautiful ache bloomed between my legs—a fierce, throbbing reminder of every single thing Drakon had done to me. Just the memory of his rough hands, his possessive orders, and the relentless way he had filled me was enough to make my center slick all over again.
I blinked up at the wooden posts above my head and realized my wrists were free. The soft ropes were gone, leaving only faint, rosy pressure marks on my skin. The bed beside me was empty, the sheets cold where Drakon’s heavy form had rested.
As I sat up, I noticed the snug compression bandage wrapped around my sprained wrist had bunched up into an uncomfortabl
