Phoebe's POV
"Don't move."
Perry's voice was a rough, gravelly command against the shell of my ear. The morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, casting long, dusty beams across the disarray of our bedsheets. The air in the chamber still smelled thick with musk, sweat, and the metallic tang of his possessiveness. My body ached in a way that was entirely pleasurable, a dull throb in my thighs and a soreness on my neck where his teeth had claimed me hours before.
His arm was a heavy iron band across my waist, pinning me to the mattress. He wasn't ready to let the world in. Not yet. He buried his face in the crook of my shoulder, inhaling deeply, his breathing slow and sated. The monster inside him had been fed.
For a moment, there was peace. Just the sound of our hearts beating in sync.
Then, the heavy oak doors shook with a frantic pounding.
