The hallway to the honeymoon suite stretched longer than any corridor I had ever walked.
Every step sent a fresh pulse of wetness between my thighs. Viktor’s fingers had left me open and aching, my modest cotton panties soaked through, the taste of my own orgasm still lingering on my tongue. The cream dress was buttoned perfectly again, the high collar hiding the bruise his mouth had left, but my body felt branded. Used. Claimed by the father while the son waited to take what no longer existed.
I opened the door.
Rocco stood by the tall windows of the suite, jacket already off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. Candlelight flickered across the massive four-poster bed. White rose petals had been scattered across the sheets like some cheap romance novel. A bottle of champagne sweated in
