Amanda Marin

she might have felt the early November chill. Her room might not have been so warm and humid. She might have taken to sleeping with clothes on, as opposed to her normal ritual of sleeping nude. As all of that wasn’t the case, what she felt as she rolled along her bed was the cool caress of her blankets against her bare skin. The friction of it against her nipples. The way it cupped her hips. The way it teased between her legs, another part of her that was now as equally frustrated as her brain was. Gina wasn’t much one for ideas that nagged. If there was a benefit to it—clear and evident—then who the hell cared. Life was easier that way. If Ehma wanted him, that was Ehma’s business. Just like whatever happened in