Skar stood there, wrists tied high, stretched out in the doorframe like a statue built to drive men insane. Her belly, a work of art, sculpted to perfection, a masterpiece borrowed from Aphrodite herself. But perfection has its price, and the second those fingers touched her skin, she found out exactly what it was. The words slipped out before she could stop them— hold on, I’m ticklish. Like she was just now figuring it out, like it hadn’t mattered until this very second. But the tickle gods had her now, and they weren’t in the business of letting go.

Skar stood there, wrists tied high, stretched out in the doorframe like a statue built to drive men insane. Her belly, a work of art, sculpted to perfection, a masterpiece borrowed from Aphrodite herself. But perfection has its price, and the second those fingers touched her skin, she found out exactly what it was. The words slipped out before she could stop them— hold on, I’m ticklish. Like she was just now figuring it out, like it hadn’t mattered until this very second. But the tickle gods had her now, and they weren’t in the business of letting go.