Milk For His Thirst (Submission)

Camila had always been aware of her power.Not the kind measured in titles or paychecks—though she had plenty of both—but in the silent pause that happened when she entered a room. In the way necks turned. In how buttons stayed one too low on her blouses, how the heat of eyes traced her every curve. She was forty-five, confident, divorced, and intentionally unapologetic. Her body had thickened with...