Monday morning didn't come as soon as Lina had hoped it would. She had wished the weekend would swiftly pass away and the morning she desperately longed for, where she would carter off to the airport with the luggage she had brought and put a good distance between this place and her, or rather between her and the memories she didn't want to remember.
Sunday had been torturously slow, and every time she closed her eyes, all she saw were his gray eyes and memories of her as she wantonly held onto him and cried out in shameless pleasure.
And each time she thought about it, she felt a dampness between her thighs that made her want to gorge her eyes out.
She could still remember the satisfaction in his eyes when she ground against his fingers for more.
Lina closed her eyes in sheer mortification. She was deeply ashamed of herself. How had she even done any of this? From kissing him to letting him touch her.
