ELARAThe morning light filters through the half-drawn curtains, painting golden stripes across the tangled sheets and our bare skin. I wake first, to find myself sprawled on my stomach, with one leg hooked over Damien’s thigh, his arm is draped across my lower back like he’s still claiming me even in sleep. My body feels deliciously used: my thighs are sticky, my core is tender, and faint bruises bloom on my hips where his fingers dug in last night. Every small shift reminds me of him, how deep he went, and how many times he made me come until my voice cracked.I turn my head and he’s watching me already, his eyes are half-lidded, dark with that quiet hunger that never really leaves him.“Morning,” I murmur, my voice still rough from screaming his name.He doesn’t answer with words. Instead his hand slides down my spine, slowly and deliberately, until his palm cups one ass cheek and squeezes. The possessive grip sends a fresh pulse of heat between my legs.“You’re sore?” he ask, his
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