Light was already leaking through the blackout curtains when my eyes opened. The room smelled like sex and his cologne and of course, regret.

My thighs ached-deep, bruising ache-every muscle felt pulled too tight, used too hard. I lay there for a long second, staring at the ceiling, feeling the sticky residue between my legs, the faint throb in my scalp where he'd yanked my hair, the ghost of his handprints on my ass.

I wanted last night. God, I wanted it.

But waking up next to him felt like stepping into a room like this felt...

I moved slow. Slid out from under his arm-he was still asleep, chest...