Chapter 860 Out Of My Grasp

• Aris
• The clock over the stove reads 12:57 A.M. Posey moves into view wearing a tankt op and shorts, her skin shiny with perspiration. She piles her hair in a bun on the top of her head. In the dim light of the kitchen, she’s all curves and skin, something soft enough to sink my teeth into.
• I bite my lower lip instead, rolling the glass base of my half-empty bottle of beer against the kitchen island. She opens the fridge, scans the contents, and takes two steaks from the bottom self, already rubbed and salted, like cooking a meal in the late hours of the night was always her plan.