Elizabeth POV
If there’s something I’ve mastered lately, it’s the art of avoiding Christian Reed like a plague. I make sure to stay in bed until ten.
He always leaves for work around nine, like clockwork. Very easy.
Ever since that night, when he came into my room, tied my wrists, and tongue f****d me with his mouth—I haven’t been the same. I wake up with the ghost of his touch on my skin, shamefully wet and embarrassingly needy.
Some nights I leave the door cracked open… pathetically hoping he’ll come back. Maybe he’ll pull me out of bed, pin me down, make me forget how much I hate him.
But he never came.
Maybe he smelled it on me, my desperation, especially after I asked, like a fool, “No s*x?”
Maybe he got bored. Maybe I disgust him now.
I had shamelessly given myself to him. N
