Dangerous Love: Sin, Lust, and Scandal
But his eyes are burning.
And the front of his jeans is straining, thick and obvious.
He straightens slowly, like it costs him something. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks again.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “We’re not done.”
Then he turns and walks out, leaving the door wide open behind him.
I lie there, heart still racing, thighs slick, tasting copper where I bit my lip.
Tomorrow.
The word settles low in my belly like a promise.
And I smile into the dark.