Burn Me Once. Clare Connelly

ice cream.’

      She’s so graceful. Even as she pushes up to standing and moves out of the bath it’s like a ballet performance. She’s lithe and lean and, though I’m aching to follow, I take a moment just to watch her. To watch as she pulls her wet hair over her shoulder and squeezes it into a towel, her eyes fixed straight ahead. She drops the towel to her body and pats herself dry in what is my new definition of sexiness. Then she turns back to me and she looks like Mona Lisa might have if she’d just rolled out of bed.

      Enigmatic. Hot. Desirable.

      ‘Ready?’

      ‘Yeah.’ Is that my voice? So gruff and hoarse?

      She reaches for the ice cream and once more spoons it into her mouth, but she holds the spoon there, her eyes holding mine. Just for a second. A beat. But it’s enough. Enough for me to imagine it’s me in her mouth.

      I would be some kind of animal if I didn’t feel guilty for what I’m doing. Four months ago I thought Sienna and I would work through our shit and probably one day get married. Four months ago I wouldn’t have dreamed of being with someone else.