The Art of Hating You
Her body was a map of the night's activities, marked with tender spots and the lingering warmth of passion.
Her heart racing, she tried to sit up, but the effort sent a sharp pain shooting through her. She winced, her hand instinctively moving to her lower abdomen. The evidence of her lost virginity was stark, the tenderness serving as a stark reminder of the tumultuous night she had shared with Austin. Memories of their fiery kisses, the way his hands had explored every inch of her body, and the intensity of their union played out in her mind like a steamy, unforgettable movie.