There was something about you that brought out the worst in her. Strengthened her vices, her desires. You’re bad for her. God, she can’t get enough. Valeria is in your lap — knees cradling your hips, her lower back pressed against the front of her desk. You have one hand on her thigh, the other curled around the neck of a tequila bottle — heated gaze locked on her throat as she swipes lemon and salt over her skin. She just grins at you and pops a little slice of lemon into her mouth.