Rain.
I wake slowly, body heavy with the kind of delicious ache that only comes after being thoroughly, shamelessly ruined. My thighs are tender, inner muscles sore in the best way, a faint throb between my legs reminding me exactly how many times he took me last night—on the dining table, in the bathtub, against the shower wall, then again in bed when we were both too exhausted to do anything but grind slow and deep until we both shattered one last time.
I’m happy. Stupidly, dangerously happy.
My eyes flutter open and find him already awake, propped on one elbow, watching me with that intense silver gaze that always makes my stomach flip. His dark hair is a mess, falling over his forehead, the sheet is pooled low around his hips, showing the sharp cut of his abs and the trail of hair t
