Amelia stood in the bathroom mirror, tracing the bruises on her hips, her throat, the inside of her thighs.
Seven days since he’d dragged her back. Seven days of secret meetings, of being f****d against every surface in his office, of whispered threats and filthy promises.
She knew it was toxic. Knew she was destroying herself. Knew that Claire — the elegant, perfect girlfriend — still existed, still shared his bed, his life, his future.
But when he touched her, when he growled mine in her ear, when he f****d her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered — she couldn’t resist. The high was overwhelming, consuming and necessary as breath.
She was trapped. And she didn’t want to escape.
***
The window between classes was seventeen minutes.
Amelia slipped into his office
