Morning after

I wake up aching.

My body feels used in a way it never has before—thighs tender, core still sensitive, lips slightly swollen from the force of Damien’s mouth. The moment I open my eyes, the memory of last night floods back in perfect, filthy detail: his fingers inside me, his tongue, the way he made me say Adrian’s name while I came.

Shame hits first.

Then the heat follows, slow and unwelcome.

I drag myself into the shower and stand under water hot enough to turn my skin pink. It doesn’t wash anything away. When I step out and look in the mirror, I still look like the same girl—except my eyes are darker, my mouth softer, and there is a faint mark on the inside of my left thigh where Damien’s stubble scraped me.

I cover it with leggings and a long sweater.

Downstairs, the kitchen is already occupied.

Adrian stands at the island in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. He glances up when I enter. For a second his eyes move over my face more carefully than usual, like he is looking for something.

“You look tired,” he says.

“I didn’t sleep well.”

He sets the phone down. “Nightmares?”

The word sits too close to the truth. I pour coffee and keep my back to him. “Something like that.”

Damien walks in before Adrian can ask anything else. He is freshly showered, hair still damp, wearing a dark sweater that makes his shoulders look broader. His eyes find me immediately. A slow, private smile curves his mouth.

“Morning,” he says, voice smooth. “Sleep well, Aria?”

I nearly choke on my coffee.

Adrian looks between us, expression unreadable. “You’re up early.”

“Motivation,” Damien answers easily. He moves past me to the coffee pot, close enough that his arm brushes mine. The contact is brief, deliberate. “I have a lot of work to get through today.”

I step away and take a seat at the far end of the island. My pulse is already too fast.

Breakfast is quiet and tense. Adrian reads something on his tablet. Damien eats slowly, occasionally glancing at me with that same knowing look. Every time our eyes meet, last night rises between us—his mouth between my legs, my voice breaking on Adrian’s name.

I finish as quickly as I can and stand.

“I have class.”

Adrian nods once. “I’ll be at the office until evening. Damien has the house.”

Of course he does.

I leave before either of them can say anything else.

Campus is a blur. I sit through two lectures and retain almost nothing. My mind keeps drifting back to the locked door I deliberately left open, to the way Damien had looked at me while he ruined me with his fingers and tongue, to the promise he made before he left.

I’m going to fuck you next time.

By the time I return to the house in the late afternoon, my nerves are frayed.

The foyer is empty. I hear the low sound of a keyboard from the home office. Damien is working. I go straight upstairs, lock myself in my room, and try to study. The words on the screen refuse to make sense.

Around six, a soft knock sounds at my door.

I freeze.

“Aria.” Damien’s voice, quiet but clear. “Open the door.”

I stay still for three full seconds before I cross the room and unlock it.

He stands in the hallway, one hand braced on the frame. His eyes drop over me slowly—leggings, oversized sweater, bare feet—before returning to my face.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“I had class.”

“And now you don’t.” He steps inside without waiting for an invitation and closes the door behind him. The soft click feels final. “Adrian won’t be home for at least two more hours.”

My mouth goes dry. “What do you want?”

Damien walks toward me until I have to tip my head back. He lifts one hand and traces the edge of my jaw with his knuckles.

“I want to know if you left the door unlocked last night because you were curious… or because you already knew you were going to let me in.”

I don’t answer.

He smiles, slow and dark. “That’s what I thought.”

His hand slides down to my throat, resting there lightly, thumb brushing my pulse. “You’re still wet from thinking about it, aren’t you?”

The directness of the question makes my breath catch. I hate that he’s right. I hate that my body reacts to him so easily now that the line has been crossed.

Damien leans in, mouth close to my ear. “Tonight I’m going to do more than use my fingers and mouth. I’m going to fuck you the way you’ve been imagining Adrian fucking you. Slow at first. Then hard. And you’re going to come with his name on your tongue again while I’m buried inside you.”

A helpless sound leaves me.

He presses a brief, open-mouthed kiss just below my ear, then steps back.

“Dinner is in thirty minutes,” he says, voice returning to that easy, public tone. “Wear something soft. I want easy access later.”

He leaves without another word.

I stand in the middle of my room, heart racing, the place between my legs already aching with anticipation and shame.

The day is not over.

And tonight, Damien is going to take everything he promised.