[Noah's POV]She looked thoroughly wrecked.I watched Elena pull her oversized shirt back into place, her fingers trembling so badly she fumbled the hem twice.Her lips were swollen, bitten red from suppressing her moans. Her eyes were hazy, glazed with a mixture of unspent desire and humiliation.I felt a dark, twisted satisfaction coil in my gut.Minutes ago, she was trying to outsmart me, concocting flimsy lies about "artistic inspiration." Now? She looked like exactly what she was: mine.I glanced down at my own hands. I had wiped them clean, but the phantom sensation of her, slick, tight, and hot, lingered on my skin.My own body was taut, a dull ache of arousal pressing against my trousers. It was annoying. I was Noah Marlowe. I didn't chase women. I didn't lose control in the back of cars like a hormone-fueled teenager.And yet, a voice in my head sneered, you are chasing this one like a dog chasing a car."Fix your hair," I ordered, my voice raspier than I intended. "You look
Última actualización : 2026-01-31 Leer más