LENA
I woke to the soft rasp of fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.
Warmth wrapped around me — strong arms, a hard chest, the faintest scratch of stubble against my forehead.
Dom.
I blinked against the early light filtering through the curtains, sore in places I didn't even know could be sore.
But it was a good kind of ache.
The kind that made my heart flutter and my thighs press tighter around the solid thigh wedged between them.
I sighed, burrowing closer into his heat, and felt him rumble a low, contented growl against my skin.
"Morning, baby," he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.
I smiled against his chest. "Morning."
Dom's hand slid down, over the curve of my hip, squeezing lightly before dragging back up.
"Are you hurt?" He sounded almost guilty.
"Hurt? No, maybe a little sore."
His dark eyes softened, molten with something deeper than lust — something heavier, more dangerous. Possession.
