Rose’s POV

By the time the first hints of dawn began to lighten the sky, painting the city skyline in soft hues of pink and gold, I had been thoroughly, completely claimed by Raphael Montenegro. My body bore the unmistakable marks of his passion — faint love bites scattered across my neck and breasts like delicate claims of ownership, the pleasant, deep soreness between my thighs that reminded me of every powerful thrust and every mind-shattering orgasm, and the faint redness on my hips where his strong fingers had gripped me so tightly while he drove into me from behind. Every muscle ached in the most delicious way, a sweet...