6
Zara
Michael had barely looked at me since yesterday’s shower. And yet, I could still feel him all over me. I could still feel his mouth on my throat, his hands gripping my thighs and his body pinning me to the wet tile. That wasn’t something you washed off.
And the way he slipped into silence after haunted me. I thought we were past that.
I kept waiting for the shift, the look of regret in his eyes or the distancing that always came next, but it didn’t this time. Not really. He didn’t avoid me. He didn’t shut me out. He just simmered. And I was boiling.
Every time I passed him in the hallway, I caught it: the way his eyes would flick to the sway of my hips. The tension in his jaw when I leaned a little too close to ask something that didn’t need asking. The way his hands flexed whe
