Eliana woke with soreness blooming across her thighs—and a dangerous satisfaction coiled in her chest like smoke she couldn't exhale.
They had made their way to the bed sometime after the couch. She didn't remember when. Only that Nicky had carried her, that they were tangled up and exhausted, and she'd finally fallen asleep against his chest.
Now she was on her side, eyes still half-closed. The sheets were a mess, wrapped around their legs. Her ass burned, still sore from what they'd done.
But she didn't regret any of it.
Not the way he held her.
Not the way he whispered her name when he came.
Not the way she had taken all of him—just to prove she could.
The only thing she regretted? She hadn't done it because she wanted to. She did it because she was desperate to be wanted back.
She had weaponized her body like it was a bargaining chip. And now she was paying for it in bruises and silence.
