“I am so not okay.”
My voice is shaking now. My hands are damp. I’m trying to keep it together but my chest is doing this weird rising-and-falling thing like I’m gearing up for a full-blown anxiety attack, and the worst part? My p***y is still sore. Still warm. Still tingling from remembering what he did to me, which makes it so much harder to focus.
“Oh my God, my mom doesn’t even know about any of this.”
I freeze.
Let that thought sit.
Because out of all the spirals in my brain, that one hits the hardest.
She doesn’t know.
Not about Damon.
Not about the heat.
Not about the bond.
Not about the knot.
“How the hell do I explain this?”
My voice is shaking again, but I keep talking anyway because if I stop, I think I might actually scream.
My hands are gripping the sides of the
