Dette Chambers’ Death Journal by L.M. du Preez
The alley reeks of sun-scorched dumpsters and death, and I quicken my pace as I pass it even though every bone, every breath, every inch of my skin wants to find out who’s tempting me.
I can’t go down there, I remind myself while I deny the pleasurable ache between my thighs.
If I go down there, I won’t come out.