Unraveled

Chapter 14: Reflections in the Mirror

Agatha drifted into awareness slowly, each sensation sharpening bit by bit.

The first thing she noticed was that she'd definitely been drooling into her pillow. She went to wipe it away, but her arm protested, aching as if she'd just run a 5K.

And then—her eyes flew open.

She was naked.

Sitting up abruptly, she shoved a wild mess of curls from her face, blowing at the stray strands that clung to her forehead as she looked around her bedroom.

Empty.

Everything looked exactly the same. But flashes of last night came flooding back, and her hand instinctively moved to her chest as she felt her breath catch, heat rushing up her neck.

Every detail replayed in vivid clarity: Rio's hands on her, putting her into whatever position she wanted, drawing from her sounds she'd never made, sounds she didn't know she was capable of. The way Rio had taken her to the edge, over and over again, until she was a shaking, gasping mess.

How many times had she come last night?

Agatha wasn't sure; she'd lost count.

She didn't even remember falling asleep. She had a distinct memory of Rio still on top of her, coaxing her through another climax when Agatha had muttered that she couldn't take any more. And Rio, with that smirk, had simply told her she could—and somehow, she did.

Agatha let out a shaky breath, feeling a fresh flush creep over her skin.

Did she really just pass out on Rio afterward?

She couldn't deny it: Rio had quite literally fucked her into oblivion.

As Agatha's mind cleared further, a new realization hit her like a bolt of lightning:

Rio hadn't even taken a single piece of clothing off.

She'd been fully dressed—socks and all.

Another hot flush of embarrassment crept over Agatha, her face heating at the thought. Rio had completely unraveled her, reduced her to a naked, trembling mess, while she herself remained composed, put-together, not a hair out of place.

It had to be purposeful.

Agatha knew it.

Rio was making a point—a deliberate, calculated move to show her who was in control. A subtle power play, a reminder that Rio could strip Agatha bare, lay her open in every way, without so much as removing a single piece of her own clothing.

Agatha pushed herself up, her muscles protesting every movement as she swung her legs off the bed and stood, heading toward the bathroom. She hissed softly as the ache deepened, a full-body reminder of last night's intensity.

Jesus.

She worked with a personal trainer three days a week; she was in shape.

So why in the hell did she feel like she'd just survived an ironman?

Another flush of heat crept over her as she registered that her soreness wasn't limited to her muscles. There was a more intimate ache—a sweet soreness that reminded her exactly how thoroughly Rio had wrecked her.

She made her way to the bathroom, flipping on the light, and caught her breath as she approached the mirror.

As her gaze traveled over her body, she let out a low, shaky breath, her eyes narrowing at the dark hickey right where her neck met her shoulder. And there, on the top of her breast—was that a bite mark?