Thorne’s POV
The room’s too damn quiet now.
Mia’s gone, slipped out early, leaving just me and the weight of God’s things—crosses on the walls, the Bible on the nightstand, the faint scent of incense clinging to the air.
Morning mass is looming, a ticking clock in my head, but my body’s got other plans.
My skin’s burning, itching with the memory of last night—her nails, her gasps, the way we tore into each other like the world was ending.
Fuck, I can’t shake it.
I stumble into the bathroom, crank the shower to scalding.
The water hits me like a slap, streaming down my chest, my abs, pooling at my feet. I brace one hand on the cold tile, trying to focus, to pray, to do anything but think about her.
But it’s no use. My c**k’s already hard, throbbing, betraying me with every pul
