I couldn’t stop myself. Blame it on the adrenaline. Maybe the anger at seeing her. The anger from her so obviously trying to hide from me. The person who had been willing to not only put their life on the line but kill for her as well. Maybe it was her closeness, the smell of the sweat on her skin mixed with the bitter peachy perfume she always wore. Or maybe it was the memory of her writhing against me—begging me not to stop—even if both of us knew we shouldn’t have been doing what we were. Or maybe it was just her. The same Victoria that’d been living in my dreams and haunting my nightmares.
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