Saturday morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains in thin gray bands. Elena woke to the thick, familiar stretch of Marcus already inside her, moving with the same unhurried depth he had used through most of the night. His chest was warm against her back. One hand rested over the lower bruises across her ribs, pressing just enough to keep them present. The other was braced on the mattress beside her breast.

She made a soft sound and pushed back against him. The cumulative heat of everything he had left in her since the previous afternoon sat heavy and slick between her legs. She had stopped counting loads somewhere after...