Page 101 of Point of Contention

Light drew me from sleep, the soft glow of early morning. As I opened my eyes, I flopped my arm around but there was no deliciously sexy man meat in bed with me.Ugh. Boring. Stretching my limbs, I assessed my pain level. I was sore, but not nearly as much as I’d anticipated I would be after the beating Cabot had given me last night.

The memories sprang to life, bombarding me with visions and feelings, and a throb built between my legs. I pressed my thighs together to encourage the sensation, moaning when a spark of lust shot through me. Someone should do something about this.

“Cabot,” I called out to the empty bedroom. “You owe me.”

I heard his chuckle before he graced me with his presence, a deep, rumbling sound that added pressure to the need building low in my belly. Motion caught my eye and I pushed up onto my elbows as he settled in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

He crossed his arms and my eyes focused on the way his pajama pants sat low on his hips.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hi.”

“What is your pain level?”

I shrugged, laying back down. “Not bad, actually.”

“Hm,” he murmured. “Tomorrow might be worse.”

“Come back to bed,” I whined as I stretched, purposely pushing the sheet off my body to entice him to do as I asked.

When he didn’t join me in bed, I lifted my head. He remained in the doorway, arms crossed, an amused smile teasing his lips. “Come eat and have some coffee.”

“No.” I dropped my head back on the pillow.

“I’m sorry?”

“You should be. You owe me.”

“Do I now.”

“I vaguely remember someone carrying me into his bed last night andnothaving his way with me.”

“You were snoring.”

“You promised.” He hadn’t, but whatever.

Cabot made a little grunt of amusement. “She’s angry.”

“Very.”

“Probably just hungry. Come on.”

I huffed and sat up to argue, but he was gone.The nerve.Running my tongue over my teeth, I laid back down and closed my eyes. Fine. If he didn’t want to play with me, I’d go back to sleep. He could play with himself for all I cared.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for sleep to come, but that damn incessant throb still pulsed between my legs, desire a heavy ache in my belly.

Groaning, I pushed out of bed and stomped toward the hallway, stopping abruptly when I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror

Eyes wide, I turned slowly around in a circle.

I looked like a fucking Dalmatian.

Except my spots were red and swollen, some of them even purple.

“Jesus,” I whispered, brushing my fingertips over a particularly angry blotch on my upper thigh. I licked my lips and pressed my fingertips against it. “Ow,” I whispered. “Okay, yeah, that hurt.” Biting down on my bottom lip, I spun again, smiling at the way his marks on my body made me feel sexy, desired. It didn’t make sense, and I didn’t want to think on it too long, but I liked the way I looked with Cabot Reed’s branding all over my skin.

Facing the mirror again, I ran my hands over my chest, then down my belly, settling them on my hips.