Celeste woke to silk sheets and the ache of being thoroughly used. Her thighs were sticky. Her neck burned where the collar had been. Her wrists were tender from the rope.
She blinked against the dim light. The room wasn’t hers.
It was massive. Modern. Floor-to-ceiling glass revealed the city skyline in eerie blue light. The scent of leather and sweat still hung in the air. And she was alone.
Until the bathroom door opened.
He walked out shirtless, towel slung over his shoulder, steam rolling in behind him like smoke. Damian. The man who had broken her open in front of strangers like she was nothing but a plaything. She should’ve been ashamed. Should’ve hated him.
But her legs opened without thinking.
His eyes dropped to her still-naked body.
“You stayed,” he said, not as a question
