Not my type, but still.
And Eve was right about his tattoo. There’s something about the inked chain wrapped around his neck that makes you want to trace it with your tongue.
Not that I would.
But damn.
“Nah, you don’t have to do that. You two have fun. Thane, just make sure she ends up in a bed, not on the floor … unless she’s into that.”
Eve flushes, and Thane chuckles. “You can count on me, Aurora. I hope you feel better.”
“Thanks. I think I’m just tired. See you both tomorrow.”
“Okay, but be careful. And text me when you get home, so I know you’re safe.” Eve rubs her hands on her thighs, something she does when she’s nervous.
“You got it, Mom,” I mutter, flashing her a crooked smile as I stand.
I don’t wait for a reply. I just need to move.
Aurora
I stumble outside, tension still humming under my skin. My fingertips tingle, desperate to grip anything that might anchor me back to reality.
The strange presence may be gone, but the ache between my legs sure as hell isn’t.
It’s a perfect night for a walk, and I desperately need fresh air. The moon hangs high, it’s soft glow turning the cracked sidewalk into a patchwork of light and shadow. The hills roll beneath the distant mountains, layered like a protective wall.
The stars shimmer overhead, creating a hypnotic display I’m still not used to. I exhale, watching my breath form a delicate mist in the chilly air.
Zipping my hoodie, I follow Main Street toward the edge of the town.
I’ll get my car tomorrow. Right now, I need to burn off some of this anxiety because I’m fucking crawling out of my skin.My body thrums with something wild and restless—temptation dressed in teeth, chewing through me, begging to be set loose.
Thankfully, my little cottage is only a mile away from work. In fifteen minutes, I’ll be home, snuggled up with Louie, trying to convince myself I’m not losing my damn mind.
The strange sensations from the bar still cling to me as I walk.
I know what I felt. What I heard.
When my fingers skim over my collarbone, a sharp shiver runs through me, not from the cold, but from the lingering memory of … something.
That ghost of a sensation. Fingertips I can’t see but still feel pressed into me.
My stomach tightens, and a slow, electric pulse flares sharply between my legs.
What kind of reaction is that? I should be terrified.
Instead, I’m slick with want, my body begging for something it doesn’t even understand.
Did the fear turn me on? The danger? Or the way it felt like I belonged to something I couldn’t see?
Right now, two feminists wage war inside me.
The self-righteous warrior practically combusts. “This is shameful! No one has the right to touch you without your permission!”
The logical, intersectional mama bear sighs, sinking into her invisible throne made of unpaid mental load invoices. “Actually, babe, you’re allowed to process your body’s reaction however the hell you want. And fuck anyone, especially that judgy bitch over there, who makes you feel guilty about enjoying something a little different.”
The warrior gasps. “You’re disgusting.”
