Contd
Paloma Perez.
When he finally lets me go in his private living room, I’m not sure what I expect but definitely not this. He lowers me gently onto the velvet couch, and without a word, reaches for my foot.
I tense but all he does is start unbuckling my heels.
Elijah is oddly quiet. Focused. Like this is a normal thing to do. He even brings a chair close just so he can sit properly while taking them off like he’s done this before, like he does this often.
This gangster, made of his steel brushes my ankle with his fingers. Soft fingers, but rough with callouses. That contrast sends a quick, silly thought through my brain. What would it feel like if those hands touched me differently? Higher…my breasts? My cheeks go warm instantly and I turn my face away in horror at my own imagina
