Kyle woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains.
Not the grey, filtered light of London's typical morning—actual sunlight, golden and warm, spilling across the bed like honey. He blinked, disoriented, and realized he was alone. The sheets beside him were cool. Ella had already slipped out.
He stretched, his body humming with a vitality he hadn't felt in weeks. The exhaustion that had dogged him since arriving in London had lifted. His muscles were loose. His mind was clear. He felt lighter than he had in memory.
"What the hell is wrong with me?"
Kyle sat up and ran a hand through his hair. His libido had been a concern—three women, constant demands, the fear that he wouldn't be able to keep up. But if anything, his drive had only increased. He had matched them, exceeded them, and still woken up ready for more.
"I might be a sex addict."
