Violet
I couldn’t take it anymore.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I shot up from my seat, my hand slamming down on the table with a crack. My chest rose and fell rapidly.
The men froze, startled. Their eyes darted to me. The middle-aged man blinked rapidly, his voice stumbling over itself. “A-are you okay, miss?”
I looked at him, and only then did it sink in what I had just done. My stomach twisted. God. I’d practically just shouted my own guilt with that move.
Another man leaned forward, concern in his eyes.
“Your face looks red. Are you sick, miss?”
Sick?
If only.
How was I supposed to explain that I wasn’t sick at all, that it was the exact opposite? That my body was buzzing with heat, humming with a shameful pleasure I couldn’t control? That every nerve in me scream
