POV: Clara

The counter still had his claws imprinted in it. Four deep gouges, wood split and raw, serving as proof of how close he’d come to taking me. Scars etched into the wood, the same as the ones etched into my soul.

The rest of the story was written across my body. Lips swollen and bruised from biting them to stop the moans from coming. Thighs slick and shaking from how close I’d been to coming from how fucking hard I’d gotten. Shirt stretched across my breasts and ...