I didn’t breathe.

I couldn’t.

My lungs refused to work, my chest too tight, too full of everything I couldn’t say. The ache between my legs was still alive, still pulsing like a second heartbeat. Shame curled its claws into me, but so did something worse. Something deeper. Something dirtier.

Desire.

My robe was halfway open, clinging to my slick skin, exposing my thigh, my breast, the curve of my stomach still twitching with aftershocks I hadn’t earned.

And ...