Elara's pov
The door closed behind Lucian, and I stood exactly where he had left me. I lifted a trembling hand to my boobs, still aching from the pressure of his palms.
Even the damp heat between my thighs was still there, humiliating and impossible to ignore.
I pulled my hand away, a hot flush of shame rising to my cheeks.
How could I have responded to that?
How could my body find comfort in the arms of a man who kept me here like a prisoner? Yet, when he had pressed me against that door, I hadn't wanted to run, I had wanted him to bend me and have me anyway he wanted.
I slowly sat on the edge of the bed, pressing both hands into the blanket to steady myself, but my mind would not quiet. It kept replaying the last thing he had said.
I'm sorry for what you went through.
What did he mean? Was it the mountain? Was it my father? Or did he simply regret the kiss?
