Nina's hips lifted off the bed, chasing the friction, every nerve alive with need.
Her gaze wandered to the chair across the room—her handbag. Inside it was the note.
The one Ross had given her, folded neatly, waiting.
Just the thought of it made her shudder.
She bit her lip so hard she almost drew blood, trying to fight the urge, but her body betrayed her again, pulsing with desperate want.
"Oh my god… I'm such a slut," Nina whispered hoarsely, rubbing faster, torn between disgust and hunger.
She knew Ross was dangerous.
She knew he was a playboy, that he had Carrie, that he would ruin her the same way he ruined anyone who got too close.
She knew all of this, and still… she couldn't stop.
Her eyes fixed on the bag.
She could almost feel the note calling to her, daring her to reach for it, to unfold it, to see his number staring back at her.
Her hand slowed, trembling. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
"No… I shouldn't…" she told herself.
