Mera sat on the couch watching Rome pace near the window.
Her chest hurt.
Not from the drain.
From something worse.
The realization that she had just given permission for the guy she was falling for to fuck other girls.
Less than forty-eight hours.
That was how long she had known Rome.
One day and a handful of orgasms that rewired her entire nervous system.
And now she was sitting here playing relationship counselor for his ability-stealing sex life.
Red flags did not even begin to cover it.
This was a fucking parade.
With fireworks.
And a marching band spelling out "BAD IDEA" in formation.
She should leave.
Pack up her duffel bag.
Walk out.
Block his number.
Pretend this never happened.
Except she could still feel him inside her.
The stretch.
The fullness.
The way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room.
Those eyes.
Grey and green.
Mismatched and perfect.
The way they focused on her face when he kissed down her body.
Fuck.
