Sunlight sliced through the half-closed blinds in thin golden stripes across the hotel bed of the third penthouse, catching on the tangled white sheets and the faint bruises blooming on Genevieve's innerthighs like dark purple petals someone had sucked into existence.
She woke slowly, body heavy with the kind of deep, throbbing ache that screamed every filthy detail of last night—the torn dress still crumpled on the bathroom floor like evidence, mascara tracks dried into faint black rivers she hadn't bothered to scrub away.
She didn't open her eyes right away. She just felt him.
Eros's broad shoulders were already wedged deep between her knees, forcing her legs into an obscene, helpless spread.
Her thighs trembled on either side of his head, heels hooked uselessly over the thick curves of his biceps, toes curling tight in the air every time his hot breath ghosted across her swollen, sleep-slick folds.
