◆◆◆ Chapter 2 ◆◆◆
Two weeks later, I’d almost convinced myself the stranger was just a beautiful mistake I’d never think about again. I’d replayed that night in parts — his hands pinning my wrists above my head, his voice low and commanding as he told me exactly how good I felt clenching around him, the way his silver-streaked hair had fallen across his forehead when he buried his face between my thighs and licked me until I sobbed. Each memory was vivid, visceral, humiliatingly wet between my legs even now. I’d shove them back into a locked drawer in my mind labeled Do Not Open, slam it shut, and go about my day: job applications, takeout dinners, pretending the bed didn’t feel obscenely empty without someone to warm it.
Felix had called forty-seven times. I blocked him on the forty-ei
