One night with my brother inlaw
But the moment I shut my eyes, he returned, his breath on my neck, his weight pressing into me.
I flinched and shut off the tap.
Get a grip, Liana.
Wrapped in a towel, I stormed out, pulled my sketchbook from the drawer like a lifeline. I needed to draw. I needed to bleed this ache onto paper. My pencil moved in frantic strokes, lines connecting, curves forming. Skin, shoulders, abs, that signature smirk. My vision blurred, but I kept going until the image was complete.
Maxwell. Naked. As I remembered him.
I stared at the drawing, breath hitching.
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