I woke up alone in Damian’s bed, sheets tangled around my legs, and my body aching in the best and worst ways. My thighs were sticky, my p***y tender from how hard he’d taken me last night, and every small shift reminded me of how he’d stretched me, filled me, and come hot across my skin. I reached down without thinking, fingers brushing swollen folds, and shivered. I was still wet and still wanting.
But the bed beside me was cold. He was gone.
I lay there a minute, listening to the quiet house. Part of me hoped he’d come back, push the door open, climb over me, and start all over again. My n*****s tightened at the thought, but after a few minutes I gave up, pulled on my uniform, and slipped back to my own room to shower.
The hot water felt good on sore muscles, but it didn’t wash away
