Eleanor's POV
I woke to the soft, familiar scent of Keith's room. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air. I was alone, the space beside me in the large bed cool and empty. I stretched, the silken sheets smooth against my skin, and then it hit me.
The memories of last night flooded my senses with the force of a tidal wave.
Oh, shit.
The feverish heat, the unbearable, aching need that had coiled low in my belly. My skin had felt too tight, oversensitive to the very air. And then Keith… his hands, his mouth, the way he…
I covered my face with my hands, a low groan escaping me. My cheeks were burning, whether from sheer embarrassment or the residual memory of how intensely hot it had been, I couldn't tell. I hadn't been in my right senses. That wasn't me. That was some primal, desperate version of me I didn't recognize.
How the heck did that even happen?
