"Saved me for you?"
The words echoed in the small space between us. I knew exactly what she was implying, but hearing it from the woman who held my life in her hands felt surreal. I needed to hear her say it. I needed to see if the ice-cold "Monet" could actually melt.
"Saved you... for me?" I repeated, my voice dropping into a low, questioning rumble.
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she let her hand wander across the expanse of my chest. Her touch was electric; even through the fabric of my shirt, I could feel the heat of her palm. Her manicured nails grazed my skin with a deliberate, agonizing slowness that sent a jolt of pure fire straight to my gut.
"You know exactly what I mean," she whispered, her voice a smoky invitation.
