Eugene's POV
The heavy mahogany door of my master bedroom clicked shut, and with it, the loud, chaotic roar of my blood seemed to instantly drop in volume. I stood paralyzed in the center of the dark room, my back rigid, my chest heaving as if I had just barely escaped a burning building.
My palms were still sweating, the tingling sensation in my fingertips a brutal, lingering reminder of the silkiness of Flora's skin beneath her top. My lips felt bruised, tasted of her, and my mind was a fractured mess of raw, primal satisfaction and agonizing, crippling shame.
What did you just do?
The question tore through my conscience like a physical blade. I had crossed a line. Not just a line of propriety, or age, or household rules—I had shattered a sacred trust. Flora was a guest. She was my
