09/08/2026
She sat up, dragging the blanket higher, then lower again like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hide or be seen.
Because that was the thing.
With him, she never knew which one she wanted more.
She opened her camera.
The first angle was safe. Too safe.
She deleted it.
The second was better—her face half-shadowed, eyes heavy, lips slightly parted like she’d been interrupted.
Still not enough.
Her heart beat harder.
She slid the blanket down just enough to show bare shoulder. The curve of her collarbone. Skin that looked soft in the warm light.
She took the photo.
Then another.
This one was closer. Her mouth. Her throat. The edge of her neckline. Nothing obscene. Nothing obvious.
Just a promise.
She hovered over the send button.
And hesitated.
Because sending it meant surrendering.
It meant admitting she wanted him the way she did—sharp, deep, and a little too much.
And he would feel that.
He’d take it.
She swallowed, then hit send.
The message whooshed away.
A second later, the typing bubble appeared.
Her breath caught instantly.
It disappeared.
Then came back.
Then disappeared again.
She let out a shaky laugh under her breath.
“God,” she whispered, “he’s doing it on purpose.”
She could practically picture him—standing there in that bathroom doorway, shoulders like a wall, phone in his hand, staring at her picture like he owned her.
