“Don’t you miss this?”

Arlecchino’s hands gently roam your body, a featherlight touch. The scent of alcohol lingers on her breath — she’s drunk. But so are you.

The flashing lights and chatter of the party have faded to the background, leaving only the two of you in a tension filled moment.

“I bet your new lover could never treat you as well as i did..” Her voice is a sensual whisper, the warmth of her breath hitting your neck.

This is wrong. So why did it feel so right?