I watched her in the mirror as she followed me in, and the sight made me forget how to breathe for half a second.
Her hair was a glorious disaster, sticking up at angles that should have been illegal. Her lips were swollen from being kissed too hard, bitten too much. My marks were already blooming on her neck and collarbone like some twisted garden I'd cultivated on her skin.
Each purple-red bruise a testament to how thoroughly I'd claimed her throughout the night. The remnants of sweat still glistened on her shoulders, catching the bathroom light in a way that made her look like she'd been dipped in gold.
She leaned against the counter, one hand braced on the marble as she tried to catch her breath. Her chest was still heaving. I could see the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat, a hypnotic rhythm that matched my own racing heart. Her other hand absently touched one of the marks on her neck, pressing down as if to feel the ghost of my mouth still there.
