Lilah held the image of Fred up to the light. Her heart, silver and bare, throbbed in liquid beats. It was rare that she even looked at this photograph, an image of Fred caught suspended in orgasm, eyes at half-mast, a dark shoulder blotting out her mouth. But sometimes, when she wondered why she couldn't win Wesley over, why she hadn't been able to destroy him once and for all, she'd stare at this picture and could see it.
Black, white, and glossy. It sat inside Fred's enraptured face.
Every. Reason. Why.
Lilah shut her eyes, rocking back in the chair. Tempted.