I didn’t say no in the morning.
Eli was in my doorway when I woke, already hard in the sweats, the outline of him thick and obvious, looking at the open door like I had signed it. The gown was on the floor. I was naked under the sheet Grant had bought, the one with the stupid hotel thread count, and Sunday was still two days of delay and a lie.
“Last chance,” he said.
“Shut the door.”
He shut it. He didn’t lock it. He pulled the sheet off and looked at me in daylight — t**s, the wet already starting between my thighs, the wedding ring I had not taken off. His eyes stayed on the ring a second too long. Then he took his own clothes off.
Twenty-one and built like a problem. Chest, stomach, the line of muscle at his hip. His c**k was thick, flushed dark at the head, already wet at the tip
