The hunger returned faster this time.
By the next evening it was already gnawing again, sharp and insistent, as if my brief taste the night before had only woken a beast that would never rest. No matter how much I touched myself beneath the sheets, how many times I screamed into pillows until my body convulsed in slick tremors, I was still aching.
It wasn’t just physical anymore. It was everywhere. In the brush of fabric against my n*****s, in the scent of sweat and s*x lingering in the House, in every laugh, every groan drifting through the walls. My skin felt electric, raw.
By the time Cassandra appeared at my door, I was curled on the bed, sweating and shaking, my nightgown twisted around my hips.
“You’re burning already,” she said, stepping inside, her voice both pity and approval.
