Finger fucking her

Freda’s POV

As I entered the restroom, my heart was still racing, my mind filled with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. I couldn't shake off the feeling of Hardin's touch, the way it made my skin tingle, even though I knew deep down that I didn't want it.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, searching for answers, trying to make sense of the chaos inside me. My eyes, usually filled with confidence, now held a glimmer of confusion and vulnerability. How did I let myself be affected by his touch? Why couldn't I deny the fact that it stirred something within me?

A wave of self-doubt crashed over me as I analyzed my reactions. Was I weak for feeling a flicker of pleasure amidst the discomfort? Did it make me complicit in his actions? These questions gnawed at my conscience, tearing at the fabric of my self-worth.

“What the fuck Freda” I yelled at my reflection in the mirror, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Turning on the faucet, I cupped my hands under the cool water,