One of Ethan’s arms hung down, the other crossed his body at the waist, the hand of the arm grasping theopposite forearm. The man’s fingers pressed. Beneath his fingertips, the skin became white. Nails dug in. Rich tried not to flinch, picturing Ethan squeezing so hard as to make his blood run.
“I told you, it’s sex.”
Ethan’s tone made Rich shiver, so he finished dressing at speed. He grabbed his coat and stuffed his gloves into a pocket. Moved to the window. Stopped.
Ethan lied.
Rich spun to face him. “Fine. You ever decide you want to tell me the truth, I’ll listen. For now, I’ll let myself out.” He made use of a chair but managed to climb out with rather more grace than when clambering in. When last he glanced back before heading into the trees, all he saw of Ethan was a silhouette against an aura of light.
* * * *