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"I Suspect Your Motives Are Even Filthier Than This Champagne"

"I Suspect Your Motives Are Even Filthier Than This Champagne"

She was a walking litigation risk, draped in enough midnight-blue silk to bankroll a small revolution and smelling of cold rain.

—the way the light hit the seat felt like a dare

—the way the light hit the seat felt like a dare

I watched the tendon in your neck pull tight when you laughed, a high-tension wire vibrating in the dark of the sleeper car.

Gauge

Gauge

I could feel the vibration of the tracks through her hip bones, a steady thrumming that made every slide of my hand feel like a confession.