It was the previous day.
Vivienne lay on André's bed, her body drenched in sweat, hair sticking to her face like she had drowned in sin itself. For a few seconds she was out cold, her body twitching from the aftershocks, but then she woke up like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her. She sat up instantly, wild-eyed, gasping like a madwoman just dragged out of hell.
Her first thought hit like a slap:
"You are fucking crazy, Vivienne. Completely crazy."
She clutched her head, still panting. "How could you pass out from coming? Who the fuck does that? You— you sick, useless slut."
Her own voice in her head mocked her. "You just laid there enjoying every single minute. Moaning, crying, writhing like a whore in church. God, you've lost your mind. He tied you up like a goat for sacrifice, and you stayed there begging for more. Look at you. Look how sore your hands are. That fucking cravat ruined your skin."
