That Hurts a Little

Rylan's POV

My gaze was pulled, as if by an invisible force, and stuck to her chest.

The dress's neckline was already dangerously low, and now, soaked through with dark red wine, it clung transparently to her skin.

Even the lower curves, barely concealed by the fabric, were clearly visible, and certain points were unmistakably outlined, rising and falling with her slightly hurried breaths.

She seemed...fuller than I remembered.

And she felt entirely different, too.

Gone was the girl who would duck her head to avoid eye contact, her ears burning red.

Now, every inch of her radiated the ripe, intoxicating allure of a mature woman.

She probably didn't even remember I existed.

But I was different.

Since that day at my father's wedding reception, her image had been seared into my mind like a brand.

I'd been busy filming, but any free moment I had, I found myself sneaking back home.

And every time, it was like self-flagellation, stumbling upon scenes that sent my blood boiling.

Sometimes, s