June POV
The room smelled like him. Like warmth, spice, and something sinfully addictive.
My legs were still tangled around the crumpled kitchen towel he'd laid under me — a failed attempt at being considerate before he lost all control and made me see stars. My body ached in that delicious way, the kind that reminded me he'd touched every inch of me with reverence and hunger, and now all I wanted was to curl up in his arms and never let him go.
The clock on the oven blinked 10:02 PM, blue and annoyingly real. I felt his hand trail slowly across my thigh, fingers lazy and warm as he stood between my legs — freshly dressed in his shirt, hair a mess, looking unfairly good for someone who had just ruined me on a counter.
"I should head back," he murmured, voice low, almost reluctant.
