The next sunny day arrived quickly, and he left while it was still twilight, so she pretended to be asleep as she didn't want to encounter him or behold that evil smirk on his face.
Her cheeks were flushed pink as they tidied the library, dusting the books and sorting the shelves. But it wasn't the labor that warmed her skin. It was his words—those raw, wicked, forbidden words that had slithered into her mind, lodging themselves deep. The weight of them, the sheer audacity of them, struck her like a fever.
She could almost taste his lips, feel the slide of his tongue, the searing heat of his bare body against hers. The thought made her inwardly shriek. He had planted something dark in her mind, a hellish flower she had no business tending to—yet here she was, watering it with reckless abandon, succumbing to its beauty.
