Steam swirled thick from the tub, peach body wash foaming creamy under Emily's hands as she lathered slow—rich suds gliding down her breasts, tracing soft belly curves, slipping between parted thighs with innocent drag.
She was still feeling guilty from the earlier exchange with Hellen. Even though she was weaker, she shouldn't have hit her.
It was wrong
Her gaze drifted lazy to the fogged bathroom mirror, wiping a brief handprint clear—flushed cheeks glowing fever-bright, emerald eyes wide and shadowed guilty, raven locks plastered wet and heavy to bare shoulders, droplets beading like tears down her collarbone.
"I look like a tragic beauty, don't I? If I didn't know what world I was in, I would have thought myself as the heroine."
