The first thing I felt was his breath, warm and deliberate, ghosting across the nape of my neck.

Not the lazy exhale of sleep, but the controlled rhythm of a man already awake, already planning.

Shane’s arm was a steel band around my waist, palm splayed flat over my stomach, fingers pressing just enough to remind me whose bed I was in, whose body I’d surrendered to and whose marks still throored beneath the sheets.

I didn’t open my eyes, I didn't even need to. Because he knew I was ...