Sunday morning arrived, soft and slow. Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lukas's penthouse, thin golden bands across the bed. I woke up alone sheets cool on his side, the indent of his body already gone.

The room smelled faintly of him clean wood, citrus, the lingering trace of last night's sex and sweat and for a second I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet sink in. My body felt deliciously sore thighs tender, hips bruised in the best way, the faint red marks from his grip still visible when I shifted.

I sat up, hair a mess around my face, short bob sticking up...