POV: Jasmine
The sheets tangled beneath us as we lay in each other's arms. Thanks to the air conditioner in the room, my body temperature was beginning to regulate. I was feverishly hot after Alaric ruined me.
His palm moved lazily up and down my back as I lay on his chest, my fingers absentmindedly tracing over the ridges of his muscles.
"I hope I wasn't too hard on you, baby?" He asked in a gruff voice, and his question was almost laughable. Alaric was anything but gentle. And he knew that.
"It's nothing I couldn't handle," I replied, and his chest heaved with a deep sigh before he kissed my forehead.
"I'm sorry, love. You'll get used to it."
And that was supposed to make me feel better? That's funny.
No matter how many times we fucked, I'd never get used to it. Alaric was insatiable. Greedy. A man who didn't just fuck—he devoured. He destroyed. He owned. And the worst part? I let him. I wanted him to.
