Isadora followed, her bare feet brushing against the polished floors, each step a vivid reminder of everything that had happened upstairs.
She was dressed now in one of Dominic’s shirts.
Oversized. Wrinkled. The hem stopped just below her ass, barely hiding the angry purpling bruises blooming on her inner thighs.
The mark of his teeth near her collarbone still pulsed with a dull throb that felt more like ownership than pain.
Her legs trembled. Her hair was still damp from the cold cloth she’d used to wipe away the slick mess between her thighs, but nothing could clean away the way she still felt.
She was sticky inside. Still swollen. Still stretched from how deep he had gone. Her cunt ached. Her n*****s still stung from how roughly he’d sucked them, bitten them, claimed them. Her
