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I want this.

I want him.

I feel like a child on Christmas morning, excited and nervous all at once, peeking for a glance at Saint Nick.

But this isn’t Christmas, and Draco is no saint.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the images that flood my mind.

His dark eyes, his flesh, etched with ink, and his hands.

Oh God, hishands.

I stop and press my forehead against the cool tile.

“I ask for your forgiveness, Lord,” I whisper.

But even as I pray, I know that my pleas are empty.

I’m not sure I want to be saved.

Not from this.

Not from him.

I should be disgusted, appalled at my own actions, but all I feel is a growing need, a hunger that gnaws at me from the inside out. I want to hate him, to fear him. But all I can think about is his touch, his lips, his body pressed against mine.

I’m clean, but I don’t want to leave this warmth.

That’s not true,the voice in my head gloats.You want to walk out of this room and climb right into bed with him.

I shake the thought away, reaching out to twist the tap off.

I reach up, grab the towel, and wrap it around my body, tucking it tightly over my chest.

Okay, sure.

Like that’s gonna save me.

As I turn to face the mirror, I see a neatly folded pile of clothes on the bathroom counter. My favorite white dress, a beacon of purity, starkly contrasts the vibrant red of the thong placed deliberately on top.

That’s the thong I had hidden in the bottom of my underwear drawer.

How did he get that?

My heart stutters, and my cheeks bleed red.

He must have left these here.

But when?

How did he come in without me noticing?

I pick up the thong.

In the Bible, particularly in the book of Isaiah, the color red is often used as a symbol of sin.

That’s why you picked it out,the voice in my head hisses.Whore.