Raven woke up alone.
Every muscle screamed. The deep ache between her legs made her hiss through her teeth. Raw. Throbbing. Every tiny shift of her hips sent fresh pain shooting up her spine. Vincent hadn't been gentle. He'd fucked her like he owned her — and part of her still hated how hard she'd come while screaming his name.
Her thighs were bruised. Her hips carried fingerprints. Even breathing pulled at the rawness where he'd gripped her too tight.
She pushed herself up slowly, wincing hard. The sheets reeked of sweat and sex and him. That ring on her finger glinted in the morning light like a fucking shackle.
Raven De Luca.
The name burned in her throat.
She dragged her shaky legs to the mirror. The girl staring back looked wrecked. Messy hair. Swollen lips. Dark hickeys scattered across her neck and collarbone like brands. Someone had taken away yesterday's torn dress. In its place hung expensive black pants and a tight shirt that screamed money and control.
