[CAMI]
By the time he comes back, I’m dressed, and my senses have returned. But it only takes a second, just one glance at that cold, dangerous face, to remember how I felt when he had his knee pressed between my thighs.
This isn’t some fantasy. I try to hammer that in my head. Zeke is real. A f*****g nightmare.
But my mind feels broken.
He strolls in with a bottle of champagne in one hand and that same devil’s grin on his face.
“Thought we’d toast,” he says smoothly, lifting the bottle. “Newlyweds and all. Don’t tell me you’re a lightweight.”
He pours into two glasses, the fizz catching the low light, and sits on the edge of the bed. Then he pats the space beside him. “Come on, sweetheart. Get comfortable.”
I move—because what choice do I have?—and take the glass. His eyes are al
