It's morning, and the sun is up early, reflecting light across the sheets.
I’m barely awake, still drowsy from the way Damon wrecked me last night. On the bed and then in the shower. My jaw aches from where I bit into his shoulder while my legs were wrapped around his waist at that bathroom wall, and my thighs? Forget it. They’re going to need a whole United Nations peacekeeping mission to recover.
But the fatigue is totally worth it. I’ve never seen myself as a s*x fiend, but I’m beginning to discover certain nymphomaniac patterns. Whenever I see Damon, I want to jump his bones.
He's already up. Fully dressed. Casual—dark jeans, a fitted sweater that stretches across his chest like a second skin, sleeves pushed up his forearms in that way that makes my mouth feel parched.
“Is it time
