ALLE
I leave Winter's cabin like I'm fleeing a crime scene.
Which, in a way, I am. The crime being what I just let happen on his couch—what I participated in, encouraged, f*****g begged for even as I told him to go f**k himself.
And he admitted to being in the middle of it.
Arrgghhh f**k! Don't think about it!
The cold night air hits my overheated skin and does absolutely nothing to clear my head. If anything, it makes everything worse because now I'm acutely aware of the dampness in my underwear, the lingering sensation of his fingers, the ghost of his breath against my neck.
Horror washes over me in waves. Not disgust—I wish it were disgust, that would be so much f*****g easier to deal with—but shame. Shame at how badly I still want more. How my body is already aching for him aga
