Emily hobbled down the mansion's grand sweeping marble staircase, each careful step sending a fresh jolt of fire through her battered legs—thighs chafed raw from the night's slick frenzy, inner muscles tender and pulsing with a deep ache that forced a wince from her with every shift of weight.
Her raven hair hung in damp, loosely towel-dried waves, framing a face still flushed from the bath's lingering steam, strands clinging to her neck and cheeks.
She had thrown on an oversized cream sweater that draped soft over her full curves and a pair of gray leggings that hugged her plush hips and thighs, hiding the secret wreck of her body beneath.
Her throat burned like fire-charred embers, too raw for even a whisper—she'd managed only a quick, desperate text to Reyes instead. It wasn't like she could call her, could she? So, she booked her on the app, and texted her.
Em: Need help 😣
Handsome Bodyguard: You booked me?
Em: 👍🏻 👍🏻 👍🏻 👍🏻
