I tried to act normal the next morning. Pretend nothing happened. That I hadn’t moaned Dominic’s name into the pillow while his fingers bruised my hips, or fallen asleep curled into his chest, legs tangled and skin still damp with sweat. I tried. But I failed miserably. I couldn’t stop thinking about his mouth, his voice, the way he looked at me like I was a drug he couldn’t quit.

And the worst part? I didn’t want him to quit.

The office was colder than usual. Not in ...