Page 81

It was fantastic.

Superb.

Possibly life-altering.

My body gives a happy little throb in agreement.

“Traitor,” I whisper.

Damian grunts in his sleep.

I freeze.

He doesn't wake.

Good.

Because as spectacular as last night was, I'm not the type to build dreams on a few orgasms.

Even really, really good ones.

Damian specifically told me he has nothing to offer me. And I heard him.

I might have insecurities, but I'm not stupid.

He offered me a night. I took it gladly.

Morning is here, and now it's time for me to be a big girl and get the fuck out of his house before he asks me to leave.

Been there.

Done that.

Don't recommend it.

No woman wants to be looked at like an unwanted pest the morning after.

Especially not after spending the night feeling as beautiful as Damian made me feel.

I refuse to ruin that memory. So I slip carefully from beneath his wing and uncurl his tail from my leg.

It twitches.

I stop breathing. Damian makes a low sound, turns his face toward the pillow, and settles again.

“Good Devil,” I whisper.

I find my clothes on the side table.

Clean.

Folded.

I stare at them. His magic.

Sometime after magically removing them from my body last night, the man apparently decides to magically launder them too.

I bite my bottom lip. Why does that feel more intimate than half the things we did?