Marilyn

Bass thumped through the crowded living room like a second heartbeat, vibrating up my thighs as I leaned against the kitchen island. Damien’s birthday party was in full swing—bodies grinding, laughter too loud, red Solo cups everywhere.

I’d slipped in wearing the tight black dress he liked, the one that barely covered my ass and made my tits look incredible. I mean we weren’t really official but everyone sort of knew about our relationship or whatever it was you’d call it.

I scanned the room for him, my pulse already quickening at the thought of dragging him upstairs later. “Where the hell are you, Damien?” I muttered under my...