Daelan POV
I lick my lips, staring down at the shivering mess of a woman spread across our bed, her legs still trembling, her lips parted, her chest heaving.
Emmaline's robe is long gone, her expensive lace lingerie now torn, a casualty of my self-control—or lack thereof.
Her hair fans out across the pillow like spilled ink, strands sticking to her temples with sweat. She looks wrecked. Flushed. Beautiful.
And she's mine.
I sit back on my heels, letting my eyes rake over her. My chest rises and falls in uneven beats, the rush of arousal making my blood pulse hot beneath my skin.
My goddess lies there, lips swollen from my kisses, faint pink marks already forming on her inner thighs from where I bit too hard.
I should apologize.
But I'm not sorry.
Instead, I smirk, pleased with myself. So damn proud.
