Daisy
Morning light sliced through the bathroom blinds, turning the steam into golden ribbons. I stood under the showerhead, hot water pounding my shoulders, trying to wash away the remnants of last night’s dream and the shame that had followed.
My skin still felt too sensitive. Every drop that hit my n*****s made them tighten painfully; every rivulet running down my stomach and between my thighs reminded me how wet I’d been, how desperate I’d gotten in the dark with that toy while Steve slept like nothing was wrong. My c**t throbbed faintly with aftershocks, and I could still feel the ghost of Norman’s grip on my hips, his growl in my ear.
I glanced at my phone on the sink counter: 8:12 a.m. s**t. The board meeting at Wright Dynamics started at 9 sharp—investors, green-energy projectio
