Three days felt like three weeks. Vera’s body had been on fire the whole time. Every time she sat at her desk, she remembered Marcus’s eyes on her. Every time her husband kissed her cheek, she felt guilty and wet at the same time. She had touched herself twice more thinking about that text, coming fast and quiet so no one would hear.
Then the message came: “Hotel bar. 8 p.m. Royal Tower. Wear a skirt.”
She didn’t think. She just did it. Black skirt, tight blouse, no panties. Her heart beat so hard on the way there she thought she might pass out.
The bar was dark, low red lights, soft jazz playing. Marcus sat at a corner table, one drink in front of him. He looked up when she walked in and his eyes burned. No smile. Just raw hunger.
Vera walked straight to him. No hello. No small talk.
