The suite smelled of sex, champagne, and expensive perfume the next morning.
Sunlight sliced through the floor-to-ceiling glass at a low, unforgiving angle. It caught the dried streaks on the marble table, the rumpled midnight-blue dress draped over a chair, the black lace panties still tangled on the floor near Joanna's discarded heels.
I woke first.
Naked. Sprawled in the oversized leather armchair that had served as our second battlefield around 2 a.m.
Kasia was curled against my side on the wide sofa, head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. Her breathing was slow and even content. The compulsion kept her anchored even in sleep.
Joanna was across the room.
She'd claimed the far end of the sectional after the third round. Naked except for one stocking that had somehow survived. She was awake, sitting up, knees drawn to her chest, staring out at the city.
Her hair was a wreck. Mascara smudged under her eyes. Cum still crusted faintly on the inner curve of one thigh.
