Mira woke with her body aching and the sheets still damp beneath her thighs. She didn’t know what time it was. Light seeped through the heavy curtains, dull and distant, like the world outside no longer mattered. She shifted slightly, wincing at the soreness between her legs. Her skin was marked—red handprints on her hips, small bites along her neck and shoulder, bruises that weren’t painful but possessive. She could still feel his tongue inside her, his voice in her ear, his c**k buried deep and unrelenting. The memory alone made her moan softly, pressing her face deeper into the pillow that smelled like him.
He was gone. She wasn’t sure when he had left, but she wasn’t surprised. He never stayed the morning after. He didn’t need to. The man had carved himself into her like scripture. Hi
