I wake up sore all over, having no single idea how I ended up back in Knox's bedroom.
The room is bright as sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting long, pale rectangles on the wood floor. I’m in his bed, tangled in the sheets, my skin sticky with sweat and something else. The air smells like him—like clean soap, expensive cologne, and the raw scent of what we did last night.
Except… I don’t remember how it ended.
The last thing I recall is him unlocking me from the guillotine in that dark, red-lit room, my legs shaking so violently I couldn’t stand. I think I remember him wrapping a blanket around me. Maybe. After that? Nothing.
I push up on my elbows with a wince. Every muscle in my body complains, a deep, pleasant ache settling low in my belly, between my legs, my thighs.
