*Everly*

I fear my wrists might be bruised in the morning. I know he hadn’t realized how tightly he was gripping me when he bucked against me with his final thrusts. Locked in my own web of passion, I hadn’t noticed it either until I got up to clean myself and fetch the silk robe that he had sewn for me.

He has slipped into his trousers, and now sits with his back against the headboard, his ankles crossed, as he eats a meat-filled pastry. The tray of food rests between us on the bed. At least he hadn’t left immediately. Although based on the way he watched me, I...