Your NewLife

The first thing Lizabeth registered was the ache—deep and throbbing, radiating from places she didn’t want to think about. Silk sheets tangled around bare legs. The air hung heavy with sweat, wine, and dying candle smoke. When she turned her head, a pair of amber eyes were already watching her. Amour lay propped on one elbow, long red hair spilling over the pillows like spilled wine. His sharp, handsome features were arranged into a smirk so smug it bordered on theatrical. His pale skin bore the evidence of the night: a constellation of fresh bites and fading bruises, as though someone had thoroughly savored him. He looked insufferably pleased, almost coquettish. “Good morning, Princess,” he purred, voice a teasing lilt. “You were... enthusiastic.” Her mind reeled. She wasn’t supposed to