By the time we finally slowed down, both of us were drenched in sweat.
I stayed pressed against Lewis's chest, letting his heat sink into my bones. The room still felt charged, like the air hadn't settled yet. He kissed the top of my head, then lifted me like I weighed nothing and carried me into the bathroom.
He helped me wash up with a kind of care that made my throat tighten. Like he was trying to make up for how rough his instincts had been earlier. My makeup was already gone, washed away by water and sweat, but my face was still red and itchy. I could tell the irritation had gotten worse from wearing it too long.
Lewis's eyes paused on the marks on my skin. His gaze softened, guilt flickering across his face.
"I'm sorry, Elena," he said quietly. "I couldn't control myself."
I shook my head and reached for his face. I traced the line of his cheek, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth, reminding him I was here. That I was okay.
