Olivia's eyes fluttered open as golden sunlight crept through the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows. The silk sheets felt impossibly soft against her bare skin, and for a moment, she wondered if she was still dreaming. Then her gaze fell on the handsome man lying beside her, his chest rising and falling in the deep, even rhythm of peaceful sleep.
Vincent looked younger somehow in slumber, his usually sharp features softened by the morning light. His dark hair was tousled from their night together, and there was the faintest hint of contentment on his lips that made Olivia's heart skip.
Reality crashed over her like a wave. The memories flooded back—her wine-fueled boldness, the way she'd whispered "master" against his ear, how she'd confessed her love with every breathless gasp. Her face slowly turned crimson as embarrassment consumed her. She buried her face in her hands, mortified by her own shameless behavior.