Anna stood frozen beside the tattoo bed, the soft cotton of her shirt bunched in one hand, the unfinished lines of ink still gleaming on the curve of her breast.
Stephen’s question hung in the air between them like a live wire.
“Did you ever masturbate in your room with my picture?”
The words should have sent her running. Instead they rooted her in place.
Heat flooded her face, her throat, the soft space between her thighs that had been aching since the moment his gloved hand brushed her n****e.
She could still feel the ghost of that touch. She could still hear every accusation she had thrown at him, every memory she had weaponized.
And underneath it all was the truth she had never planned to speak out loud.
She did not put the shirt on.
She stepped closer instead.
The paper o
