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. You’re in Valeria’s lap — knees cradling her hips, your lower back pressed against the front of her desk. She’s got one hand on your thigh, the other curled around the neck of a tequila bottle — heated gaze locked on your throat as you swipe lemon and salt over your skin. You just grin at her and pop a little slice of lemon into your mouth.