I didn’t sleep that night.
Even after Damon fell asleep beside me—naked, sated, and tangled in my legs—I couldn’t close my eyes. My skin still tingled with the memory of his mouth, his hands, the way he held me like I was his and always had been.
When I finally slipped out of his room just before sunrise, shame clung to me like a second skin. But under the guilt was something darker—something I couldn’t admit even to myself.
I wanted more.
Jake called around eight. He was cheerful, clueless. Said he’d be home in the evening. Asked if Damon was settling in okay.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “He’s… fitting in just fine.”
After the call, I stood in the kitchen, pouring coffee, wearing only a robe. I didn’t hear Damon come in until his arms wrapped around my waist from
