When my eyes opened again, sunlight cut sharply through the curtains, flooding the room with morning light.
Vincenzo was no longer beside me.
The bed was empty, the sheets on his side cool to the touch.
He wasn’t in the room at all.
The space felt strangely hollow, as if the intense heat of last night had never happened.
He had slipped away while I slept, leaving nothing behind but the faint ache between my thighs and the memory of his growl against my neck.
The room still smelled of sex—musk, sweat, the faint tang of release.
My body ached in the best way—sore between my thighs, tender in spots I hadn’t known could be tender.
I sat up slowly, a soft wince escaping as my body protested the movement.
The deep soreness between my thighs sent a fresh spark of heat through me.
A shy, secret smile touched my lips.
I had always heard sex was good.
I had read the words, imagined it in the dark, but never truly believed how consuming it could be.
Now I knew.
It wasn’t just pleasure.
It was devastating.
I wanted more.
I wanted him again — that thick, relentless fullness stretching me open, the way my body had surrendered so completely, the way the entire world had narrowed down to nothing but him.
I rose on trembling legs and reached for the nightgown crumpled on the floor.
As I pulled the silk over my head, the fabric brushed against my still-sensitive skin, sending little shivers racing through me.
I should clean up.
The thought came to me belatedly.
I eased out of Vincenzo’s room and gently shut the door, turning my back on it.
Barefoot and still flushed, I walked down the long corridor, the cool marble floor sending little shocks through my soles with every step.
The cold only made me more aware of the deep, tender ache between my legs — a constant, throbbing reminder of what he had done to me.
The house was quieter now.
I pushed my door open and stepped inside, already turning the moment over in my head—
Then I stopped.
Everything in me went still.
Because she was there.
