THE NEXT STORY
Sofia
Friday.
Finally, the week was finally over.
It felt like it dragged on forever, leaving me craving a little indulgence.
As I stepped into the library, book in hand, I inhaled the comforting scent of old pages mixed with a hint of citrus from the cleaning supplies. A smile crept onto my face as I adjusted my grip on the novel, its cover barely hiding the kind of story that made my heart race.
A dark, depraved mafia romance. It had a male lead who didn’t ask permission so much as demand surrender. A man who played with consent the way a composer toyed with notes—artfully, deliberately, with the kind of confidence that made my skin prickle and my thighs press together. One that was over too soon. The kind of book I devoured in a fever and now I was in need of anot
