Chapter 2 The Morning After

Elena Pov

I wake up on my side, my face half-buried in the pillow, my body sore in places I didn't know could hurt.

Not painful but just the kind of soreness that reminds you exactly how you spent the night.

For a second, I don't move.

I just breathe, my eyes still closed, hovering between sleep and memory.

Then it hits me.

Last night.

I jolt upright too fast, my hair falling into my face, my heart punching hard against my ribs.

I turn my head, slowly, stupidly hoping

But the other side of the bed is empty.

The sheets are a mess.

Twisted, wrinkled, pushed halfway off the bed like they tried to keep up but couldn't.

He's gone.

A quiet sigh slips out before I can stop it. Not disappointment exactly more like reality finally catching up.

My mind flickers back to last night, his hands, the heat, the way he pulled me under and didn't let me hide.

The way he kissed me, the way he worshipped my body.

I grab the nearest pillow, press it to my face, and scream into it until my throat burns, then I toss it across the room, it hits the door and flops to the floor, useless and dramatic, just like me.

"Get it together," I mutter

I swing my legs off the bed, pushing yesterday's clothes out of my way with a lazy kick.

My body protests the movement, but I ignore it. I stand, stretching, wincing at the soreness I earned.

"I have to enjoy the rest of the day before going back," I tell myself, even though the words feel thin.

For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the wrecked bed, the creased sheets, the faint imprint of where he had been.

Then I force myself to move.

One foot.

Then the other.

All the way to the bathroom.

Julian's Pov

My phone vibrates on the bedside table, loud as hell in the quiet room.

It buzzes again, rattling the glass surface like it's angry.

I crack an eye open, head pounding. For a second, I don't know where I am.

Then I breathe in.

Her.

That soft, sweet scent that's been haunting me since last night

I glance down.

The sheets are a mess half hanging off the bed from how hard we went last night

They barely cover me. Her arm's slung over my stomach, her cheek tucked into my shoulder like she's been there forever, like she belongs there.

And fuck me, part of me wants to believe she does.

Her hair's a dark wave against my chest, warm and real, her breathing steady, soft cuts through the noise in my head.

I breathe through the tightness in my chest.

Quietly, I lift her hand off me. She sighs, rolls over, and curls into the pillow.

I stare at her for a second too long.

Then I stand, and every breath feels like a goddamn mistake.

My clothes are scattered across the floor, the mess of a night that lasted too long and ended too well.

I pick them up piece by piece, shirt, belt, pant pulling them on one after the other.

By the time I'm dressed, the room feels smaller.

I slip out the door, easing it shut so the latch doesn't click too loud.

Like as if the quiet will erase the fact that I was ever in that bed.

My phone rings again.

I answer as I head for the elevator. "What."

"Good morning to you too," my best friend Dominic says, his voice full of sleep and attitude. "Where the hell did you disappear to last night? You sound wrecked."

"Something like that," I mutter.

"So?" he pushes. "You find trouble or did trouble find you?"

I exhale, stepping into the elevator.

Her mouth flashes through my mind.

Her voice, whispering my name like it meant something.

Her fingers on my back like she already knew every scar.

"Doesn't matter," I say, even though it does.

Way more than it should.

"Julian...."

"I'll call you back."

I hang up before he can drag anything else out of me.

The elevator doors close and I catch my reflection in the mirror-lined walls hair messed, collar wrinkled, eyes darker than they should be for a man who's supposed to be in control.

I look like someone who crossed a line he shouldn't have.

Someone who'll cross it again if he's not careful.

As the elevator sinks floor by floor, a thought slips in deep and unwelcome

I shouldn't have touched her.

And I sure as hell shouldn't want to again.

But wanting isn't the problem.

The problem is knowing that last night isn't the end of anything.

It's the beginning of a disaster I know I won't be able to walk away from.

Because now I want her more