Jasmine.
Morning light sliced through the half-open blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets.
My body felt like it had been rebuilt overnight—every muscle sore, every joint loose, my p***y a swollen, throbbing heartbeat between my legs.
The slick mess of Finn’s c*m still coated my inner thighs, glued them together like magnets; when I tried to swing my legs off the bed, the pull sent a fresh gush of wetness sliding down.
I hissed, toes curling against the cool hardwood.
Walking?
A joke.
Standing upright?
A miracle I wasn’t ready to attempt.
Finn was already gone—bed cold on his side, the faint scent of his cologne the only proof he’d been real.
He’d drained me, wrung every drop of energy from my bones, and left me boneless, ruined, smiling like an idiot.
If Lila
