Aveline retreated into the en suite bathroom, closing the door to create a temporary barrier between herself and Mike's predatory stare. The click of the lock felt like a surrender.
Inside, the fluorescent light hummed with an antiseptic brightness that contrasted sharply with the charged, shadowy intimacy of the bedroom.
Her reflection in the mirror was unrecognizable. Her hair was mussed from Mike's grip, her lips swollen and reddened, and her eyes—those analytical, controlled eyes—were dilated with a primal hunger.
She leaned against the marble countertop, her breath coming in shuddering gasps.
"Haaah... haaaah..." Each exhale felt like a release of years of pent-up repression.
"What am I doing?" she whispered to her reflection, but there was no conviction in the question. Her hands moved to the buttons of her blouse with unsteady fingers. "God, what am I doing..."
