SEVENTEEN
SEVENTEEN –––––––– The anxiety of that morning lessened over the days that came after it. For almost eight weeks, Devon’s life bloomed on its new path, becoming something altogether too wonderful. She’d gone from abject depravity, living with almost nothing, to existing in the lap of luxury with a man who had the power to give her anything in the world her heart desired. And he frequently did. Sitting at the end of her bed, Devon’s hands covered Zave’s that were curled over the footboard. “I don’t know how I’ll feel in this house without you,” she said. He was crouched on the other side of the footboard, with his forearms resting along it. Devon slid her fingers between his and squeezed before brushing her palms up his bare forearms and back down again. “You survive in this house with
- Writer
