The kitchen was dark again. I made it that way.
I stood where he had found me last night, sleep shorts on because he had told me to, nothing underneath, the counter edge cutting my palms. The house still smelled like Tessa’s lunch. Her container sat in the sink. Her lipstick was on a glass by the stove. I stared at that pink mark and did not move when Grant’s body hit mine from behind.
No mistake this time. His hands knew the height of me. His mouth opened on my throat and said the right name into my skin.
“Sloane.”
He yanked the shorts down to my thighs and left them there, a useless band that kept my legs from opening all the way. Two fingers shoved into me without asking. I was filthy from the morning — his mouth, his c*m rubbed into me, the dress I had sat in across from my sister
