Breakfast was pancakes and orange juice and the sound of Mom asking Cole about work.
I sat across from him in yesterday’s shorts and a clean shirt and tried not to shift in the chair. My stomach still had the faint tacky feel of where he’d wiped his c*m. Every time I crossed my legs I felt how swollen I was. He looked at me once, over the rim of his coffee, and the corner of his mouth moved like he knew exactly what I was sitting on.
“Pass the syrup, Lena.”
His fingers brushed mine when I handed it over. Deliberate. I pulled back too fast and Mom noticed.
“You two getting along?”
“Fine,” Cole said. He cut into his pancakes. “She snores.”
“I do not.”
He smiled into his coffee. Under the table his foot hooked my ankle and stayed there. I ate with my pulse in my throat and counted the
