Page 140 of Cold Mercy

I lie back for a moment, staring at the ceiling, willing my heartbeat to calm down. A shiver runs through me at the memory of how his voice sounded in the dark.

The knocking on the door drags me out so violently that for a moment I don’t know where I am or why my whole body feels warm and stretched and deliciously sore.

The knocking comes again, sharper this time, and panic snaps me upright. I scramble across the sheets, grab my panties from the nightstand, and throw on his shirt, holding the front together with both hands because half the buttons are missing thanks to him losing his mind all over me last night.

I’m barefoot, half-dressed, hair a total disaster, and still sore in places I didn’t know could ache this pleasantly, when I crack the door open.

Elizabeth stands there fully dressed, makeup flawless. Looking like a woman who absolutely should not be awake at this hour the morning after her wedding.

“I—Mrs. Calloway,” I stammer, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Shouldn’t you be… you know…consummating something?”

Elizabeth doesn’t answer at first. She steps inside, pushes the door shut behind her, and her eyes immediately sweep from my messy hair to the oversized shirt hanging off my body, then to my neck.

“Judging by the bruises on your neck, I’m guessing you let someone else take care of the consummation part for me, and for this whole house.” Her voice is pure, dry amusement, edged with that knowing bite she saves for moments like this.

My hand flies to my throat on instinct, fingers pressing over skin that suddenly feels way too exposed. For a second, I’m convinced she’s going to scream or cry or throw a pillow at me for ruining her wedding with my questionable life choices.

“Elizabeth, I know, I know, I’m sorry,” I rush out, waving my hands. “I didn’t plan it, I swear. And it’s your big day, and I shouldn’t have let anything happen, and I know it looks bad and—”

“Sophia.”

“I promise I wasn’t trying to cause drama, things just… escalated and—”

“Sophia.”

“Please don’t be mad at me, I know the timing is awful and—”

“Sophia! I’m not judging. I’m just connecting dots so obvious they might as well spell Thomas,” she interrupts.

I choke on a laugh, and she plants both hands on her hips, taking a dramatic breath.

“Did I seriously have to get married for you to finally fuck him?” she asks.

The laugh that rips out of me is uncontrollable. I collapse onto the bed, giggling like an idiot, while Elizabeth sits beside me, equally hysterical.

“So?” she demands, nudging me with her hand. “How was it? Don’t you dare give me PG-13. I’m your best friend. Spill everything.”

I bury my face in my hands, but the smile won’t leave.

“Just because we had sex doesn’t mean we’re together,” I warn, but she only waves that off like I’m being unnecessarily dramatic.

“Great, disclaimer noted,” she says cheerfully. “Now talk.”

There’s no point pretending. I’m glowing like a woman who has just discovered religion in physical form.

“It was… amazing,” I admit, heat curling low in my stomach from the memory alone. “Honestly, Elizabeth, it was unreal. He’s impossible. Too sexy for his own good. For real, best night of my life. And also… well…”

Elizabeth leans in like she’s about to be given state secrets.

“Well?”

I sigh, defeated.

“He’s huge.”

Her whole face lights up.

“Like, how huge are we talking?”