Filthy Little Secret

It was late.

Like, sin-o’clock late.

Vanessa was snoring across the room with her bonnet still perfectly secured, probably dreaming of throwing holy water on me and my vibrator. And me? I was under the sheets.

Because Wyatt was texting me.

And not just texting.

He was texting me like he wanted to finish what he started. Like his fingers weren’t enough. Like he regretted leaving me on the wall