The sheets are twisted around my legs. My nightgown is bunched high on one thigh. My pulse won’t settle. Every time I close my eyes, I see his mouth between my legs again, feel the drag of his tongue, hear that low, rough voice asking me what, exactly, I’m begging for.
I let out a shaky breath and push myself upright.
I need water.
Cold water. A shower, maybe. A new body.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and that’s when I hear the knock. Three uneven hits against the door.
I push myself up, wincing a little at the stiffness in my back, and reach for my robe. The digital clock on the bedside table reads 1:17.
Nobody should be knocking on my door at one in the morning.
I cross the room and open it a cautious few inches. “Who is it?”
A beat.
Then, from the other side, a man’s voice. “Sienna.”
My stomach drops.
Ethan.
“It’s late,” I say. “Go back to your room.”
He laughs under his breath. “Still bossy.”
I don’t answer. The handle doesn’t move, but I step back anyway.
“Sienna.” His voice drops, not kinder, just lower. “Open the door.”
“No.”
A longer silence this time.
Then, “Come on. You owe me that much.”
I actually stop breathing for a second, but then decide to open it anyway. He’s not going anywhere until I do, and I don’t want to cause a scene. Maybe I can send him away after he tells me whatever he has to.
I regret it immediately as I open the door. My stomach drops.
He’s tieless, jacket gone, shirt half-unbuttoned at the throat, hair slightly mussed. The smell of whiskey hits me almost immediately.
I keep the door half-closed. “What do you want?”
He smiles, but it’s sloppy around the edges. Wrong. “So cold,” he says. “You used to at least pretend to like seeing me.”
I tighten my grip on the door. “Go back to bed, Ethan.”
He looks past me into the room. “This is where they put you?”
I don’t answer.
He lifts one shoulder. “Figures.”
“Leave.”
Something in his face shifts. Not dramatically. Just enough to make fear slide cold down my spine.