THE SOUNDS HAUNTED me all night.
I could not sleep. Even when the moon fled behind clouds and dawn teased the edges of the curtains. I had sat there on the edge of my bed, wrapped in a blanket of shame and heat and trembling want, remembering every rasping breath I had heard from the locked room. The way it rambled my heart, turning me into ash. The way it rasped at my ears like it was right behind me. I had stopped breathing for a moment, or maybe more, and my breath caught in my throat, and I was terribly, terribly swallowed by need. I became a silent statue of just—utter shock.
His voice still echoed in my ears. It was low, guttural, and wickedly strained. I could picture it. Picture him. The way he would look like—frowning, brows furrowed, and lips curled inside. Sweat would fall ove
