Knot Beneath the Mistletoe

17

RUBY

I wake up feeling like I’m floating on a cloud, which is weird because my mattress at home definitely has a spring digging into my lower back. As my eyes adjust to the soft morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows, reality comes at me like a ton of bricks. This isn’t my shoebox apartment above the bar—this is straight out of Architectural Digest or maybe Bruce Wayne’s summer cabin.

I know instantly I’m in Knox’s place. It smells like him; it screams him. The last thing I recall is being in his car with his finger inside of me—fuck, I tingle with the memory—then exhaustion came over me, and I assume I fell asleep. He must have brought me to his place.