Elena woke in the black room to the slow stroke of Damien’s fingers along the leather collar still fastened around her throat. The single low light remained on. She was lying on the padded platform, her body sore in the deepest, most satisfying ways—pussy tender, ass sensitive, every muscle carrying the memory of how thoroughly she had been used.

Damien was already awake, propped on one elbow beside her, watching her face with that same calm intensity he had worn from the very first night in the rain.