Waking up and seeing Anthony Nasser's face again has become an encouragement to my recurring nightmares.... For some reason, he strokes my hairline. For the second time.
And I pretend to be asleep so as not to miss a single second of his touch, his fingers are extremely soft, but at the same time they are in masculine hands, full of grace and sensuality. I can imagine many situations in which his hands would be a blessing, but I force myself not to think about it the moment such thoughts arise.
"Julieta?" He whispers after exactly five minutes in which he hadn't stopped caressing me.
He has left my side just as I've seen the hesitation on his face.... He doesn't want me to notice that he's attracted to me.
As if I didn't know such a familiar situation....
"You came back," I say c
