Her fingers moved from the back of my hand to curl around my wrist, and in the space of a heartbeat, she turned her shoulder back toward the couch and...pulled at the same time. With my fingers resting atop the swell of her breast, I watched her gasp and tilt her head back. She held on tight to my wrist and breathed, “Please. Please.” I knew better, but my fingers still stroked over her smooth skin, drawing out another gasp. Her other hand slid behind my neck, tugging even as she leaned closer. I. She turned off her phone and enjoyed a day of solitude, spending her time on simple things like cleaning her room, reading in the bathtub, and not having to sit directly on a bruised ass for hours at a time. The day was peaceful for her, but she tossed and turned before going to sleep, her thoughts invaded by images of the old priest. Tiny clips of what he had done to her played incessantly in her mind. Strangely, when she reimagined it, she saw it from his perspective, sickly enjoying the. More

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