I don’t feel good, though. I’m steaming up from within. Who needs hot springs when you’ve got repressed s*x fantasies to keep you warm?
My fingers fumble with the buttons of my dress. Every brush of fabric against oversensitive skin is a betrayal.
He turns away, giving me privacy that feels a hell of a lot more like punishment. I’d do the same, but he’s too quick—he shucks his pants down, revealing lean muscles clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs.
Water ripples outward as he sinks into the pool. I watch the muscles in his back flex, the droplets clinging to his shoulders. My mouth goes arid.
You’ve done this before, I remind myself. You’ve had him roaring your name against a library wall. Compared to that, this is nothing.
But that was before the lies. Before the blood.
When th
