Nathalie's face twisted in agony, her breath hitching like she'd been gut-punched. She didn't argue. She couldn't. Because Angela was right. And the truth burned worse than any insult.
I leaned over her, my voice a low, velvety growl, my fingers tracing the curve of her hip with a possessive touch. "If I were Walter..." I murmured, my breath hot against her ear, my words wrapping around her like a promise.
"I would've had you every night." My hand slid up, cupping her breast, my thumb brushing over her nipple, feeling the way it hardened under my touch. "I would've fucked you until you couldn't walk. Until you were begging me to stop."
My lips brushed the shell of her ear, my voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. "I would've worshipped this body. Made sure you were satisfied every single fucking night." My grip tightened just slightly, my voice darkening. "What a waste, Nathalie. What a poor, neglected woman..."
