She woke up gasping, the dream still lodged in her throat like a second heartbeat. She felt like the taste of him clung to her tongue, salt and musk and thick, hot release that she could swear was real. Her lips tingled, swollen from the phantom stretch of his cock, jaw aching as if she'd spent hours on her knees. The sheets were twisted around her hips like restraints, damp and sticky between her thighs where her cunt pulsed with leftover need. The air in the bedroom hung heavy with the sharp, animal scent of her arousal, mixed with the faint ozone of last night's rain seeping through the cracked window. Outside, Canary Wharf stirred with the low rumble of early traffic, horns blaring distant and muffled, Thames slapping against its banks like wet skin on skin.