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Summary
The ring in your pocket is as hot as molten iron. You want to throw it out the window. You want to toss it into the ocean and let the waves wash it away.
"Let's - upstairs," you say again, like an idiot. Lust is locked tightly at the base of your throat and it's shredding all your words, making them sound stilted and stupid. Surely she can tell. "I mean - well, only if you, um, want to -"
Madelaine D'Artois does not wait for you to equivocate.
Ana discovers some things about herself.